IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


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Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  MSSO 

(7I6)S73-4S03 


CIHM/fCMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICIVIH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  de  microreproductions  historiques 


^ 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notas/Notas  techniques  et  bibliographiques 


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Couverture  endommagie 


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This  item  is  filmed  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filrn^  au  taux  de  reduction  indiqui  ci-dessous. 


10X 

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24X 

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32X 

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right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  as 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


L'exemplaire  film*  fut  reproduit  grflce  A  la 
g4n6rosit6  de: 

Dana  Porter  Arti  Library 
University  of  Waterloo 

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plus  grand  soin,  compte  tenu  de  la  condition  et 
de  la  nettet«  de  l'exemplaire  film6,  et  en 
conformity  avec  les  conditions  du  contrat  de 
filmage. 

Les  exemplaires  originaux  dont  la  couverture  en 
papier  est  imprimte  sont  filmfo  en  commenpant 
par  le  premier  plat  et  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
dernlAre  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impression  ou  d'iilustration,  soit  par  le  second 
plat,  salon  le  cas.  Tous  les  autres  exemplaires 
originaux  sont  filmte  en  commenpant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  comporte  une  empreinte 
d'Impression  ou  d'illustration  et  en  terminant  par 
la  derni^re  page  qui  comporte  une  telle 
empreinte. 

Un  dos  symboles  suivants  apparaitra  sur  la 
dernlAre  image  de  cheque  microfiche,  selon  le 
cas:  le  symbols  — ►  signifie  "A  SUIVRE".  le 
symbols  V  signifie  "FIN". 

Les  cartes,  planches,  tableaux,  etc..  peuvent  dtre 
filmte  A  des  taux  de  reduction  diff^rents. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  Atre 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clich6, 11  est  film6  A  partir 
de  Tangle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  d  droite, 
et  de  haut  en  bas,  en  prenant  le  nombre 
d'images  nicessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illustrent  la  mdthode. 


1  2  3 


1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

5    t 


IN  THE  CIEiEIN&S 


VERSUS 


THE    BUSH. 


BY   MRS,    MO0I>lE, 


1.UTH  OB    .0  F- .*^H0»  OH  J  N  O    IT  'I  N    T'Hfi.BPS  H  ,"    BTO 


"  I  sketch  from  Nature,  and  the  dimnght  ia  trae. 
Whate'er  Uie  ]^ietiire,  whether  gmve  or  gay, 
Fainftil  ezperieuee  in  a  dbtant  land 
MadaUliiineown."  '       ■ 


■.■•»   '  ■     ■• 


NEW    YORK: 

DE   WITT  &  DAVENPORT,  PUBLISHERS, 

..  160  &   162   NASSAU   STREET. 


Property  Of  the  Library 
University  of  Waterloo 


-.*^*^.i^^MtX-ViH^v,^<tJM-lfi».<r^.^>i 


T'l^WrjSrfVW'flf  •""  - 


«r  «  n.r».^».  T  A  W S ,  BUS  BE LL  &  C 0. ,     -_,    .--~»««™ 

BTBAU  PBINTEBB, 


■VBBMOTTPBB, 


BIKDIB, 


«4BMkinMitt.,N.T.       26  Beekman  &  18  Spruce-Street         i  SpioM  tit.,  v.  T. 


CONTENTS. 


V( 


•'I 


INTRODTTOnON. •••..6 

BELLEVILLE •          *         •  ,      •       .«  13 

LOCAL  IMPROVEMENTS — SKETCHES  OF  SOdETT      .          .          •         .  41 

FREE  SCHOOLS— THOUGHTS  ON  EMJCATION 66 

AMUSEMENTS 76 

TRIALS  OF  A  TRAVELLmO  MUSISIAIT      ......  89 

.THE  SINOINO  MASTER 101 

CAMP  MEETINGS     .          .          .          .          .          .          .          .          ^  *   :.  121 

WEARING  MOURNTNG  FOR  IBB  DEAD 142 

ODD  CHARACTERS            .........  164 

GRACE  MARKS 166 

MICHAEL  MACBRIDB 186 

JEANIE  BURNS ••.  201 

LOST  CHILDREN     .          *         .          *         • 212 

TORONTO         .          , •t^^KJ^Ji.  220 

LUNATIC  ASTLUM            .         .          .         •^■''"r^''      '•         *^-''?^i|',     .  234 

PROVINCUL  AGRICDL'TOBAL  SHOW 245 

NIAGARA        •• •          •         •  ^S 

GOAT  ISLAND         ....  *>.  »t 278 

CONCLUSION            .          i>:'-^'ii^':;'y':i-^'i^-      .          .          .          .          •  291 


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INTRODUCTION 


**  Dear  foster-mother,  on  whose  ample  brMWt 
The  hungry  still  find  food,  the  wearjr  rest ; 
The  child  of  want  that  treads  thy  happy  shore 
Shall  feel  the  grasp  of  poverty  no  more ; 
His  honest  toll  meet  recompense  can  claim, 
'  And  Freedom  bless  him  with  a  freeman's  name  !'* 

8.  U 

In  oar  work  of  "  Roughing  it  in  the  Bush,"  I  endeavoured  to  draw  a 
picture  of  Canadian  life,  as  I  found  it  twenty  years  ago,  in  the  Back- 
woods. My  motive  in  giving  such  a  melancholy  narrative  to  the 
public,  was  prompted  by  the  hope  of  deterring  well-educated  people, 
about  to  settle  in  this  colony,  firom  entering  upon  a  life  for  which 
they  were  totally  unfitted  by  their  previous  pursuits  a.  .n  !i.%bits. 

To  persons  unaccustomed  to  hard  labour,  and  used  to  the  comforts 
and  luzories  deemed  indispensable  to  those  moving  in  the  middle 
classes  at  home,  a  settlement  in  the  bush  can  offer  few  advantages. 

It  has  proved  the  ruin  of  hundreds  and  thousands  who  have  ven- 
tured their  all  in  this  hazardous  experiment ;  nor  can  I  recollect  a  tan- 
gle family  of  the  higher  class,  that  have  come  under  my  own  personal 
knowledge,  that  ever  realised  an  independence,  or  bettered  their  con- 
dition, by  taking  up  wild  lands  in  remote  localities ;  while  volumes 
might  be  filled  with  failures,  even  more  disastrous  than  our  own,  to 
prove  the  truth  of  my  former  statements. 


y 


vi 


INTRODUCTION 


But  while  I  hare  endeavoured  to  point  out  the  error  of  gentlemen 
bringing  delicate  women  and  helpless  children  to  toil  in  the  woods, 
and  by  so  dolbg  excluding  them  from  all  social  intercourse  with  per- 
sons in  their  own  rank,  and  depriving  the  younger  branches  of  the 
family  of  the  advantages  of  education,  which,  in  the  vicinity  of  towns 
and  villages,  can  be  ei^oyed  by  the  children  of  the  poorest  emigrant, 
I  have  never  said  anything  against  the  bkal  benefits  to  be  derived 
Arom  a  judicious  choice  of  settlement  in  this  great  and  riring  country. 
God  forbid  that  any  representations  of  mine  should  deter  one  of  my 
countrymen  flrom  making  this  noble  and  prosperous  colony  his  future 
home.  But  let  him  leave  to  the  hardy  labourer  the  place  assigned  to 
him  by  Providence,  nor  undertake,  upon  limited  means,  the  task  gf 
pioneer  in  the  great  wilderness.  Men  of  independeAt  fortune  can  live 
anywhere.  If  such  prefer  a  life  in  the  woods,  to  the  woods  let  them 
go ;  but  they  will  soon  find  out  that  they  could  have  employed  the 
means  in  their  power  In  a  far  more  profitable  manner  than  in  chopping 
down  trees  in  the  bush.       '  ,  ' 

There  are  a  thousand  more  advantageous  ways  in  which  a  man  of 
property  may  invest  his  capital,  than  by  burying  himself  and  his  fa- 
mily  in  the  woods.  There  never  was  a  period  in  the  history  of  the 
colony  that  oflfered  greater  inducements  to  men  of  moderate  means 
to  emigrate  to  Canada  than  the  present.  The  many  plank-roads  and 
railways  in  the  course  of  construction  in  the  province,  while  they 
afford  high  and  remunerative  wages  to  the  working  classes,  will 
amply  repay  the  speculator  who  embarks  a  portion  of  his  means  in 
purchasing  shares  in  them.  And  if  he  is  bent  upon  becoming  a 
Canadian  farmer,  numbers  of  fine  farms,  in  healthy  and  eligible 
situations,  and  in  the  vicinity  of  good  markets,  are  to  be  had  on 
moderate  terms,  that  would  pmply  repay  the  cultivator  for  the  money 
and  labor  expended  upon  them. 

There  are  thousands  of  independent  proprietors  of  this  class  in 
Canada— men  who  move  in  the  best  society,  and  whose  names  have 
a  political  weight  in  the  country.    Why  gentlemen  should  obstinately 


INTRODUOnON. 


YU 


crowd  to  tho  Backwoods,  and  prefer  the  coarse,  hard  life  of  an 
axeman,  to  that  of  a  respectable  landed  proprietpr  In  a  oiyiUzed 
part  of  the  country,  has  always  been  to  me  a  matter  of  surprise ;  for 
a  farm  under  cultivation  can  alwaya  be  purchased  for  less  money 
than  must  necessarily  be  expended  upon  clearing  and  raising  build- 
ings upon  a  wild  lot  ■  ^  ■ 

Many  young  men  are  attracted  to  the  Backwoods  by  the  facilities 
they  present  for  hunting  and  fishing.  The  wild,  free  life  of  the 
hunter,  has  for  an  ardent  and  romantic  temperament  an  inexpressible 
charm.  But  hunting  and  fishing,  however  fascinating  as  a  wholesome 
relaxation  from  labor,  will  not  win  bread,  or  clothe  a  wife  and 
fihiwing  little  ones ;  and  ^ose  who  give  themselves  entirely  up  to 
such  pursuits,  soon  add  to  these  profitless  accomplishments  the  bush 
vices  of  smoking  and  drinking,  and  quickly  throw  off  those  moral 
restraints  upon  which  their  respectability  and  future  welfare  depend. 

Tho  bush  is  the  most  demoralizing  place  to  which  an  anxious  and 
prudent  parent  could  send  a  young  lad.  Freed  suddenly  from  all 
parental  control,  and  exposed  to  the  contaminating  influence  of  broken- 
down  gentlemen  loafers,  who  hide  their  pride  and  poverty  in  the  woods, 
he  joins  in  their  low  debauchery,  and  falsely  iinaginesthat,  by  becom- 
ing a  blackguard,  he  will  be  considered  an  excellent  backwoodsman. 

How  many  fine  young  men  have  I  seen  beggared  and  ruined  in  the 
bush  I  It  is  too  much  the  custom  in  the  woods  for  the  idle  settler, 
who  will  not  work,  to  live  upon  the  new  comer  as  long  as  he  can  give 
him  good  fare  and  his  horn  of  whisky.  When  these  fail,  farewell  to 
your  good-hearted^  loystering  Mends ;  they  will  leave  you  like  a 
swarm  of  musquitoes,  while  you  fret  over  your  festering  wounds,  and 
fly  to  suck  the  blood  of  some  new  settler,  who  i?  fool  enough  to 
believe  their  offers  of  friendship.  -^ 

rThe  dreadful  vice  of  drunkenness,  which  I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak 
of  hereafter,  is  nowhere  displayed  in  more  revolting  colours,  or  occurs 
more  frequently,  than  in  the  bush  ;  nor  is  it  exhibited  by  the  lower 
classes  in  so  shameless  a  manner  as  by  the  gentlemen  settlers,  from 


/• 


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yU 


INTRODnCTION. 


whom  ft  better  example  might  be  expected.  It  would  not  be  dlffloolt 
to  point  out  the  cauiei  which  too  often  lead  to  these  melancholj  resnlti. 
LoM  of  propertj,  incapacity  for  hard  labour,  yielding  the  mind  to 
low  and  degrading  vices,  which  destroy  self-respect  and  paralyse  ho> 
nest  exertion,  and  the  annihilation  of  those  extravagant  hopes  thai 
false  statements,  made  by  interested  parties,  had  led  them  to  cnter- 
tfdn  of  fortunes  that  might  be  realised  in  the  woods  :  these  are  a  few 
among  the  many  reasons  that  could  be  given  for  the  number  of 
victims  that  yearly  fill  a  drunkard's  dishonourable  grave. 

At  the  period  when  the  greatest  portion  of  "  Roughing  it  in  the 
Bush  "  was  written,  I  was  totally  igorant  of  life  in  Canada,  as  it  ex- 
isted in  the  towns  and  villages.  Thirteen  years' reddence  in  one  of  the 
most  thriving  districts  in  the  Upper  Province  has  given  me  many 
opportunities  of  becoming  better  acquainted  with  the  manners  and 
habits  of  her  busy,  bustling  population,  than  it  was  possible  for  mo 
over  to  obtain  in  the  green  prison  of  the  woods. 

Since  my  residence  in  a  settled  part  of  the  country,  I  have  enjoyed 
as  much  domestic  peace  and  happiness  as  ever  falls  to  the  lot  of  poor 
humanity.  Canada  has  become  almost  as  dear  to  me  as  my  native 
land  ;  and  the  home-sickness  that  constantly  preyed  upon  me  in  the 
Backwoods,  has  long  ago  yielded  to  the  deepest  and  most  heartfelt 
interest  in  the  rapidly  increasing  prosperity  and  greatness  of  the 
country  of  my  adoption, — the  great  foster-mother  of  that  portion  of 
the  human  family  whose  fatherland,  however  dear  to  them,  is  unable 
to  supply  them  with  bread. 

To  the  honest  isons  of  labour  Canada  is,  indeed,  an  EI  Dorado— a 
land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey  ;  for  they  soon  obtain  that  indepen- 
dence which  the  poor  gentleman  struggles  in  vain  to  realise  by  his 
own  labour  in  the  woods. 

The  conventional  prejudices  that  shackle  the  movements  of  members 
of  the  higher  classes  in  Britain  are  scarcely  recognised  in  Canada ; 
and  a  man  is  at  liberty  to  choose  the  most  profitable  manner  of  acquir- 
ing wealth,  without  the  fear  of  ridicule  and  the  loss  of  caste.  .^ 


^ 

'% 


-\ 


INTBODUOnOlf. 


The  Mendly  relatloiu  wliloh  now  eziit  between  vm  and  oar  enter- 
prlilng,  intelligent  American  neighbors,  have  doubtlen  done  much 
to  produce  this  amalgamation  of  claaaei.  The  gentleman  no  longer 
looks  down  with  saperolllons  self-Importance  on  the  wealthy  merchant, 
nor  does  the  latter  refiue  to  the  ingenioos  mechanic  the  respect  dne 
to  him  as  a  man.  A  more  healthy  state  pervades  Canadian  society 
than  existed  here  a  few  years  ago,  when  party  feeling  ran  high,  and 
the  professional  men  and  offlce-holders  yldted  exclusively  among 
themselves,  affecting  airs  of  aristocratic  superiority,  which  were  per- 
fectly absurd  in  a  new  country,  and  which  gave  great  offence  to 
those -of  equal  wealth  who  were  not  admitted  into  their  clique. 
Though  too  much  of  this  spirit  exbts  in  the  large  cities,  such  as 
Quebec,  Montreal,  and  Toronto,  it  would  not  be  tolerated  in  the 
small  district  towns  and  villages,  where  a  gentleman  could  nc:  take 
a  surer  method  of  making  himself  unpopular  than  by  exhibiting  this 
feeling  to  his  fellow-townsmen. 

I  have  been  repeatedly  asked,  since  the  publication  of  "  Roughing 
it  in  the  Bush,"  to  give  an  account  of  the  present  state  of  society 
in  the  colony,  and  to  point  out  its  increasing  prosperity  and  com- 
mercial advantages ;  but  statistics  are  not  my  forte,  nor  do  I  feel 
myself  qualified  for  such  an  arduous  and  important  task.  My  know- 
ledge of  the  colony  is  too  limited  to  enable  me  to  write  a  compre- 
hensive work  on  a  subject  of  vital  consequence,  which  might  involve 
the  happiness  of  others.  But  what  I  do  know  I  will  endeavour  to 
sketch  with  a  light  pencil ;  and  if  I  cannot  convey  much  useful 
information,  I  will  try  to  amuse  the  reader  ;  and  by  a  mixture  of 
prose  and  poetry  compile  a  small  volume,  which  may  help  to  while 
away  an  idle  hour,  or  fill  up  the  blanks  of  a  wet  day. 


/ 


BeUeville,  Canada  Wett. 


*aj»'. 


W- 


,.-ihj#^'' 


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'Uh- 


i-i.'i^-'i.!'  T-i^M:-^} 


Ij^i^-^^v^  2J%J#. 


■■^^'''Vi''' 


i.* 


*s-'-y;^ 


0%^ii0:iif^4^:X 


:^h 


■^fnf^-  .me  'txe-fi^:ri. 


.r-^:-M.'^_ 


m*wt.. 


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',-.^  /'?^ 

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^  .Vrt,..,,,. -w-iM. 


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^;<*?:j;^,.i,:.tV, 


fit^^S.*,   ». 


,•»* 


4-->^'a3*^»-^j^" 


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;>f -it;.*,.:-*!-  ^r^ol*?-*'*!^^ 


■-If' 


1.;     ;(.   :.  r-. 


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?k?^'i<4-f  *"«' 


ii'ji;*- it;n-f  rw<«  >:f-*^*'^.J'*':*;i«feJfe^l->'  »* 


t     A'   d-i  :< 


'Ut; 


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*-■■.•  1-^1^'- 


'^^-4^-'^'-- **■^^M^rJ^t^^'■^v^^■;4^4^;-  V-w^i"  *4; 


"  '.y         ■>■? 


INDIAN  SUMMER. 


'  r>'.  - 


Bt  the  purple  haze  that  lies 

On  the  distant  rocky  height, 
By  the  deep  blue  of  the  skies, 

By  the  smoky  amber  light, 
Through  the  forest  arches  streaming, 
Where  nature  on  her  throne  bits  dreaming, 
And  the  sun  is  scarcely  gleaming 

Through  the  cloudlet's  snowy  white, 
WinterV  lovely  herald  greets  us. 
Ere  the  ic^^-crown'd  tyrant  meets  us. 


A  mellow  softness  fills  the  air — 
'    No  breeze  on  wanton  wing  steals  by. 
To  break  the  holy  quiet  there. 
Or  make  the  waters  fret  and  sigh, 
.     Or  the  golden  alders  shiver, 

That  bend  to  kiss  the  placid  river,.-J.;i4j; 
Flowing  on  and  on  for  ever  j  t 

.    But  the  little  waves  seem  sleeping. 
O'er  the  pebbles  slowly  creeping, 
That  last  night  were  flashing,  leaping. 
Driven  by  the  restless  breeze. 
In  lines  of  foam  beneath  yon  trees. 

Dress'd  in  robes  of  gorgeous  hu^—       }:^. 

Brown  and  gold  with  crimson  blent, 
The  forest  to  the  waters  blue 
Its  own  enchanting  tints  has  lent. 
'      In  their  dark  depths,  life-like  glowing, 
We  see  a  second  forest  growing, 
Each  pictur'd  leaf  and  branch  bestowing 
^Sf^  A  fairy  grace  on  that  twin  wood, 
Mirror'd  within  the  crystal  flood. 


/ 


zu. 


INDIAN   SUMMER. 


\. 


'Tis  pleasant  now  in  forest  shades ; —     ' 

The  Indian  hunter  strings  his  bow 
To  track,  through  dark  entangled  glades, 
^      The  antler'd  deer  and  bounding  doe ; 
Or  launch  at  night  his  birch  oanoe, 

To  spear  the  finny  tribes  that  dwell 
On  sandy  bank,  in  weedy  cell, 

Or  pool  the  fisher  knows  right  well,— 
Seen  by  the  red  and  livid  glow 

Of  pine-torch  at  his  vessel's  boW. 


i^i 


■*'.  ■^'■ 


I   » 


This  dreamy  Indian  summer-day 

Attunes  the  soul  to  tender  sadness : 
We  love,  but  joy  not  in  the  ray, 

It  is  not  summer's  fervid  gladness, 
But  a  melancholy  glory 

Hov'ring  brightly  roimd  decay,    '*^*^ 
Like  swan  that  sings  her  own  sad  story, 

Ere  she  floats  in  death  away.       .;    '  v 


■*^ 


:^</ 


'> 


The  day  declines. — ^What  splendid  dyes, 
In  flickered  waves  of  crimson  driven, 
Float  o'er  the  saffron  sea,  that  lies 
Glowing  within  the  western  heaven  I 
Ah,  it  is  a  peerless  even  ! 
See,  the  broad  red  sun  has  set,  I 

Sut  his  ray^  are  quivering  yet, 
Through  nature's  veil  of  violet, 
Streaming  bright  o'er  lake  and  hill ; 
But  earth  and  forest  lie  so  still — 
We  start,  and  check  the  rising  tear^ 
'Tis  beauty  sleeping  on  her  bier 


'5>«,*V*«i'lt 


^  i.  ^ 


■  "  vV  ■  '■      \L- 


i. 

:  ■■■'_  'U^.^ 


\\ 


'.i  :  .»:'iiy^i  i->r  ^ii-Jift-Jt. 


,^f^j'.y.:.,''i     VV-..^*       **^.v^J,- 


y::<' 


LIFE  IN  TttE  CLEARINGS 


Jr*, 


VERSUS  THE  BUSH. 


CHAPTER  I. 


I    *)  ■>«.•,*•■., 


.:yii^**^»*.;. 


t.rJ«r-»'V,.,l  -♦■ 


**  The  land  of  oar  adoption  claims 

Oar  highest  powera— our  flrmeat  troat— 
If  ay  ftatare  agea  blend  cor  names 

With  hers,  when  we  shall  sleep  In  dast. 
Land  of  our  sons  {— 4ast>bom  of  earth, 

A  migh^  nation  nartares  thee ; 
The  first  in  mortal  power  and  worth — 

Long  mayest  thoa  boast  her  sovereigniiy  t 

Union  is  strength,  while  round  the  booghs 

Of  thine  own  lofty  nu^le-tree ; 
The  threefold  wreath  of  Britain  flows, 

Twined  with  the  graeeftil  Jt&ur-d4-U»; 
A  ohaplet  wreathed  mid  smiles  and  tears, 

In  which  all  haes  of  glory  blend ; 
Long  may  it  bloom  for  ftitare  years. 

And  Tigoar  to  thy  weakness  lend.*' 


-       '■       -   -; 


^  Ybab  after  year,  daring  twenty  yeant'  residence  in  the  colony, 
I  had  indulged  the  hope  of  one  day  yisiting  the  Falls  of  Niagara, 
and  year  after  year,  for  twenty  long  years,  I  was  doomed  to  dis- 
appointment. 

For  tho  first  ten  years,  my  residence  in  the  woods  of  D<yitf<6, 
my  infant  family,  at  last,  not  least,  among  the  list  of  objections, 
that  great  want — the  want  of  money — placed  insuperable  diffi- 
culties in  the  way  of  my  ever  accomplishing  this  cherished  wish 
of  my  heart. 

^e  hope,  resigned  for  the  present,  was  always  indulged  as  a 


'■nt' 


LIFE  IN  THE   CLEARINGS. 


bright  future — a  pleasant  day-dream — an  event  which  at  some 
unknown  period,  when  happier  days  should  dawn  upon  us,  might 
take  place ;  but  which  just  now  was  entirely  out  of  the  qnestioo. 
'  "When  the  children  were  very  importunate  for  a  new  book  or 
toy,  and  I  had  not  the  means  of  gratifying  them,  I  used  to  silence 
them  by  saying  that  I  would  buy  that  and  many  other  nice 
things  for  them  when  "  our  money  cart  came  home." 

During  the  next  ten  years,  this  all-important  and  anxiously 
anticipated  vehicle  did  not  arrive.  The  children  did  not  get  their 
toys,  and  my  journey  to  Niagara  was  still  postponed  to  an  inde- 
finite period,     v^      /  ^;{ 

Like  a  true  daughter  of  romance,  I  could  not  banish  from  my 
mind  the  glorious  ideal  I  had  formed  of  this  wonder  of  the  world; 
bnt  still  continued  to  speculate  about  the  mighty  cataract,  that 
sublime  "  thunder  of  waters^'^  whose  very  name  frocQ  childhood 
had  been  music  to  my  ears.  ''  -  '-    " 

Ah,  hope  1  what  would  life  be,  stripped  of  thy  encouraging 
smiles,  that  teach  us  to  look  behind  the  dark  clouds  of  to-day  for 
the  golden  beams  that  are  to  gild  the  morrow.  To  those  who 
have  faith  in  thy  promises,  the  most  extravagant  fictions  are 
possible;  and  the  unreal  becomes  material  and  tangible.  The 
artist  who  placed  thee  upon  the  rock  with  an  anchor  for  a  lean- 
ing post,  could  never  have  experienced  any  of  thy  vagrant  pro- 
pensities. He  should  have  invested  thee  with  the  rainbow  of 
Iris,  the  winged  feet  of  Mercury,  and  the  upward  pointing  finger 
of  Faith ;  and  as  for  thy  footstool,  it  should  be  a  fleecy  white 
cloud,  changing  its  form  with  the  changing  breeze. 

Yet  this  hope  of  mine,  of  one  day  seeing  the  Falls  of  Niagara, 
was,  after  all,  a  very  enduring  hope ;  for  though  I  began  to  fear 
that  it  never  would  be  realized,  yet,  for  twenty  years,  I  never 
gave  it  up  entirely ;  and  Patience,  who  always  sits  at  the  feet 
of  Hope,  was  at  length  rewarded  by  her  sister's  consenting 
smile. 

During  the  past  summer  I  was  confined,  by  severe  indisposi- 
tion, almost  entirely  to  the  house.  The  obstinate  nature  of  my 
dbease  bafBed  the  skill  of  a  very  clever  medical  attendant,  and 
created  alarm  and  uneasiness  in  my  family :  and  I  entertained 
small  hopes  of  my  own  recovery,    i^  ^.y::.:^.^%?^^^^,^-^,..,. 


of 


LIFE   IK  THB   CLEARINGS.  ,p| 

Dr.  L  ■',  as  a  last  resource,  recommeuded  change  of  air  and 
scene ;  a  remedy  far  more  to  my  taste  than  the  odious  drags 
from  which  I  had  not  derived  the  least  benefit.  HI  and  languid 
as  I  was,  Niagara  once  more  rose  before  my  mental  vision,  and 
I  exclaimed,  with  a  thrill  of  joy,  "The  time  is  come  at  last — ^I 
shall  yet  see  it  before  I  die." 

My  dear  husband  was  to  be  the  companion  of  my  long  jour- 
ney in  search  of  health.  Our  simple  arrangements  were  soon 
made,  and  on  the  7th  of  September  we  left  Belleville  in  the  hand- 
some new  steam-boat,  "  The  Bay  of  Quinte,"  for  Kingston. 

The  afternoon  was  cloudless,  the  woods  just  tinged  with  their 
first  autumnal  glow,  and  the  lovely  bay,  and  its  fi^iry  isles,  never 
appeared  more  enchanting  in  my  eyes.  Often  as  I  had  gazed 
upon  it  in  storm  and  shine,  its  blue  transparent  waters  seemed 
to  smile  upon  me  more  lovingly  than  usual.  With  affectionate 
interest  I  looked  long  and  tenderly  upon  the  shores  we  were  leav- 
ing. There  stood  my  peaceful,  happy  home;  the  haven  of  rest 
to  which  Providence  had  conducted  me  after  the  storms  and  tri- 
als of  many  years.  Within  the  walls  of  that  small  stone  cottage, 
peeping  forth  from  its  screen  of  young  hickory  trees,  I  had  left 
three  dear  children, — God  only  could  tell  whether  we  should  ever 
meet  on  earth  again :  I  knew  that  their  prayers  woild  follow 
me  on  my  long  journey,  and  the  cherab  Hope  was  still  at  my  side, 
to  whisper  of  happy  hours  and  restored  health  and  spirits.  - 1 
blessed  God,  for  the  love  of  those  young  kindred  hearts,  and  for 
having  placed  their  home  in  such  a  charming  locality. 

Next  to  the  love  of  God,  the  love  of  nature  may  be  regarded 
as  the  purest  and  holiest  feeling  of  the  human  breast.  In  the 
outward  beauty  of  his  creation,  we  catch  a  reflection  of  the 
divine  image  of  the  Oreator,  which  refines  the  intellect,  and  lifts 
the  soul  upward  to  Him.  This  innate  perception  of  the  beauti- 
ful, however,  is  confined  to  no  rank  or  situation,  but  is  found  in 
the  most  barren  spots,  and  surrounded  by  the  most  unfavourable 
circumstances ;  wherever  the  sun  shines  and  warms,  or  the  glory 
of  the  moon  and  stars  can  be  seen  at  night,  the  children  of 
genius  will  find  a  revelation  of  Qod  in  their  beams.  But  there 
is  not  a  doubt  that  those  born  and  brought  up  among  scenes  ^f 
great  natural  sublimity  and  beauty,  imbibe  this  feeling  in  a  larger 


/■ 


--^.■..J\i.*!.tl-;.i*i..   .  i. 


LIFS  IK  THS  OLBARINOS. 


degree,  and  their  minds  are  more  easily  imbned  with  the  glorious 
colouring  of  romance, — ^the  inspired  visions  of  the  poet. 

Deal  patient  reader  I  whether  of  British  or  Canadian  ori^, 
as  I  wish  to  afford  yon  all  the  amusement  in  my  power,  deign  to 
accompany  me  on  my  long  Journey.  Allow  me  a  woman^s  privi- 
lege of  talking  of  all  sorts  of  things  by  the  way.  Should  I  tire 
yon  with  my  desultory  mode  of  conversation,  bear  with  me 
charitably,  and  take  into  account  the  infirmities  incidental  to  my 
gossiping  sex  and  age.  If  I  dwell  too  long  upon  some  subjects, 
do  not  call  me  a  bore,  or  vain  and  trifling,  if  I  pass  too  lightly 
over  others.  The  little  knowledge  I  possess,  I  impart  freely,  and 
wish  that  it  was  more  profound  and  extensive,  for  your  sake. 

Oome,  and  take  your  seat  with  me  on  the  deck  of  the  steamer ; 
and  as  we  glide  over  the  waters  of  this  beautiful  Bay  of  Quinte, 
I  will  make  you  acquainted  with  every  spot  worthy  of  note 
along  its  picturesque  shores.  %»  s^^  ^  m  ?  ^^?  ^v^^i-r* , 

An  English  lady,  writing  to  me  not  long  ago,  expressed  her 
weariness  of  my  long  stories  about  the  country  of  my  adop- 
tion, in  the  following  terms : — "  Don't  fill  your  letters  to  me  with 
descriptions  of  Canada.  Who,  in  England^  thinks  anything  of 
Canada P^ 

Here  the  pride  so  common  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  favoured 
isles  spoke  out.  This  is  perhaps  excusable  in  those  who  boast 
that  they  belong  to  a  country  that  possesses,  in  an  eminent  de- 
gree, the  attributes  bestowed  by  old  Jacob  on  his  first-bom, — 
"  the  excellency  of  dignity,  and  the  excellency  of  power."  But, 
to  my  own  thinking,  it  savoured  not  a  little  of  arrogance,  and 
still  more  of  ignorance,  in  the  fur  writer ;  who,  being  a  woman 
of  talent,  should  have  known  better.  A  child  is  not  a  man,  but 
his  progress  is  regarded  with  more  attention  on  that  account; 
and  his  future  greatness  is  very  much  determined  by  the  progress 
he  makes  in  his  youth.  *^  '  : .      ^  ^ 

To  judge  Canada  by  the  fifttiae  standard,  6h6  Appears  to  us  a 
giant  for  her  years,  and  well  worthy  the  most  serious  contempla- 
tion. Many  are  the  weary,  overtasked  minds  in  that  great, 
wealthy,  and  powerful  England,  that  turn  towards  this  flourish- 
ing colony  their  anxious  thoughts,  and  would  willingly  exchange 
&e  golden  prime  of  the  mother  oountry  for  the  healthy,  vigor- 


.:./>..«:■; 


UFK    IN    THE    CLEARINGS. 


17 


ons  yoQDg  strength  of  this,  her  stalwart  child,  and  consider 
themselves  only  too  happy  in  securing  a  home  upon  these  free 
and  fertile- shores. 

Be  not  discouraged,  brave  emigrant.  Let  Canada  still  remain 
the  bright  future  in  your  mind,  and  hasten  to  convert  your  pre- 
sent day-dream  into  reality.  The  time  is  not  far  distant  when 
she  shall  be  the  theme  of  many  tongues,  and  the  old  nations  of  the 
world  will  speak  of  her  progress  with  respect  and  admiration. 
Her  infancy  is  past,  she  begins  to  feel  her  feet,  to  know  her 
own  strength,  and  see  her  way  clearly  through  the  wilderness^ 
Child  as  you  may  deem  her,  she  has  already  battled  bravely  for 
her  own  rights,  and  obtained  the  management  of  her  own  affairs. 
Her  onward  progress  is  certain.  There  is  ng  if  in  her  case.  She 
possesses  within  her  own  territory  all  the  elements  of  future 
prosperity,  and  she  must  be  great  I 

The  men  who  throng  her  marts,  and  clear  her  forests,  are 
worJsers^  not  dreamers^ — ^who  have  already  realized  Solomon's 
pithy  proverb,  "  In  all  labour  is  profit ;"  and  their  industry  has 
imbued  them  with  a  spu'it  of  independence  which  cannot  ftul  to 
make  them  a  free  and  enlightened  people. 

An  illustration  of  the  truth  of  what  I  advance,  can  be  given 
in  the  pretty  town  we  are  leaving  on  the,  north  side  of  the  bay. 
I  think  you  will  own  with  me  that  your  eyes  have  seldom  rested 
upon  a  spot  more  favoured  by  Nature,  or  one  that  bids  fairer  to 
rise  to  great  wealth  apd  political  importance.  .^  r^ 

Sixty  years  ago,  the  spot  that  Belleville  now  occupies  was  in  the 
wilderness ;  and  its  rapid,  sparkling  river  and  sunny  upland 
slopes  (which  during  the  lapse  of  uges  have  formed  a  succession 
of  banks  to  the  said  river),  were  only  known  to  the  Indian  hun- 
ter and  the  white  trader. 

Where  you  see  those  substantial  stone  wharfs,  and  the  masts 
"^f  those  vessels,  unloading  their  valuable  cargoes  to  replenish 
thb  stores  of  the  wealthy  merchants  in  the  town,  a  tangled  cedar 
swamp  spreads  its  dark,  unwholesome  vegetation  into  the  bay, 
completely  covering  with  an  impenetrable  jungle  those  smooth 
verdant  plains,  now  surrounded  with  neat  cottages  and  gardens. 

Of  a  bright  summer  evening  (and  when  is  a  Canadian  summer 
evening  otherwise  ?)  those  plains  swarm  with  happy,  healthy 


^8 


Lira  IN  THS  CLVARINGS. 


ohildreD,  who  assemble  there  to  pursue  their  gambols  beyond  the 
heat  and  dust  of  the  town ;  or  to  watch  with  eager  eyes  the 
young  men  of  the  place  engaged  in  the  manly  old  English  game 
of  cricket,  with  whom  it  is^  in  their  harmless  boasting,  *'  Belle- 
ville against  Toronto-Oobourg;  Kingston,  the  whole  world."  i> 
,  The  editor  of  a  Kingston  paper  once  had  the  barbarity  to  com- 
pare these  valiant  champions  of  the  bat  and  ball  to  "  singed  cats 
— ugly  to  look  at,  but  very  devils  to  go." 

Om*  lads  have  never  forgiven  the  insult ;  and  should  the  said 
editor  ever  show  his  face  upon  their  ground,  they  would  kick 
^im  off  with  as  little  ceremony  as  they  would  a  spent  ball. 

On  that  high  sandy  ridge  that  overlooks  the  town  eastward — 
where  the  tin  roof  of  the  Court  House,  a  massy,  but  rather  taste- 
less buildlDg,  and  the  spires  of  four  churches  catch  the  rays  of 
the  sun — ^a  tangled  maze  of  hazel  bushes,  and  wild  plum  and 
cherry,  once  screened  the  Indian  burying-ground,  and  the  chil- 
dren of  the  red  hunter  sought  for  strawberries  among  the  long 
grass  and  wild  %wers  that  flourish  profusely  in  that  sandy 
soil.  -.^•v,  «;'-.„.  ■   ,     '  -^:;.A 

Would  that  you  could  stand  with  me  on  that  lofty  eminence 
and  look  around  you !  The  charming  prospect  that  spreads  itself 
at  your  feet  wpuld  richly  repay  you  for  toiling  up  the  hill. 

We  will  suppose  ourselves  standing  among  the  graves  in  the 
burying-ground  of  the  English  church ;  the  sunny  heavens  above 
us,  the  glorious  waters  of  the  bay,  clasping  in  their  azure  bolt 
three-fourths  of  the  landscape,  and  the  quiet  dead  sleeping  at 
our  feet.  -1**5^^ 

The  white  man  has  so  completely  supplanted  his  red  brother, 
that  he  has  appropriated  the  very  spot  that  held  his  bones ;  and 
in  a  tew  years  their  dust  will  mingle  together,  although  no  stone 
marks  the  grave  where  the  red  man  sleeps. 

From  this  churchyard  you  enjoy  the  finest  view  of  the  town 
and  surrounding  country ;  and,  turn  your  eyes  which  way  you 
will,  they  cannot  fail  to  rest  on  some  natural  object  of  great  in- 
terest and  beauty.  ^^.i^. 

The  church  itself  is  but  a  homely  structure;  and  has  always 
been  to  me  a  great  eyesore.  It  is  to  be  regretted  that  the  first 
ijQlM»l>ilpttj|, of  the  plaqe  select*^. their  best  and  most  healthy 


UFK   IK   THB   OLEARtNOS. 


10 


building  sites  for  the  erection  of  places  of  worship.  Ohnrchefl 
and  chorohyards  occupy  the  hills  from  whence  they  obtain  their 
springs  of  firesh  water, — and  such  delicious  water  I  They  do  not 
at  present  feel  any  ill-consequences  arising  from  this  error  of 
judgment ;  but  the  time  will  come,  as  population  increases,  and 
the  dead  accumulate,  when  these  burying-grounds,  by  poisoning 
the  springs  that  flow  through  them,  will  materially  injure  the 
health  of  the  living. 

J  The  English  church  was  built  many  years  ago,  partly  of  red 
brick  burnt  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  partly  of  wood  coloured 
red  to  make  up  the  deficiency  of  the  costlier  material.  This 
seems  a  shabby  saving,  as  abundance  of  brick-earth  of  the  best 
quality  abounds  in  the  same  hills,  and  the  making  of  bricks 
forms  a  very  lucrative  and  important  craft  to  several  persons  in 
the  town. 

- :,  Belleville  was  but  a  small  settlement  on  the  edge  of  the  forest, 
scarcely  deserving  the  name  of  a  village,  when  this  church  first 
pointed  its  ugly  tower  towards  heaven.  Doubtless  its  founders 
thought  they  had  done  wonders  when  thoy  erected  this  humble 
looking  place  of  worship ;  but  now,  when  their  descendants  have 
become  rich,  and  the  village  of  log-huts  and  frame  buildings  has 
grown  into  a  populous,  busy,  thriving  town,  and  this  red  taste- 
less building  is  too  small  to  accommodate  its  congregation,  it 
should  no  longer  hold  the  height  of  the  hill,  but  give  place  to  a 
larger  and  handsomer  edifice. 

Behold  its  Catholic  brother  on  the  other  side  of  the  road ; 
how  much  its  elegant  structure  and  graceful  spire  adds  to  the 
beauty  of  the  scene.  Tet  the  funds  for  rearing  that  handsome 
building,  which  is  sach  an  ornament  to  the  town,  were  chiefly 
derived  from  small  subscriptions,  drawn  from  the  earnings  of 
mechanics,  day-labourers,  and  female  servants.  If  the  Church 
of  England  were  supported  throughout  the  colony,  on  the  volun- 
tary principle,  we  should  soon  see  fine  stone  churches,  like  St. 
Michael,  replaciug  these  decaying  edifices  of  wood,  and  the  out- 
cry about  the  ever-vexed  question  of  the  Clergy  Reserves,  would 
be  merged  in  her  increased  influence  and  prosperity. 

The  deep-toned,  sonorous  bell,  that  fills  the  steeple  of  the 
Catholic  ohurchj  which  cost,  I  have  been  told,  seven  hundred 


20 


UPE   IK   THE   CLEARINGS. 


\ 


pounds,  and  was  brought  all  the  way  from  Spain,  was  pur- 
chased by  the  voluntary  donations  of  the  congregation.  This 
bell  is  remarkable  for  its  fine  tone,  which  can  be  heard  eight 
miles  into  the  country,  as  far  as  the  village  of  Northport,  eleven 
miles  distant,  on  the  other  side  of  the  bay.  There  is  a  solemn 
grandeur  in  tlie  solitary  voice  of  the  magnificent  bell,  as  it 
booms  across  the  valley  in  which  the  town  lies,  and  reverberates 
among  the  distant  woods  and  hills,  which  has  a  very  imposiog 
effect. 

A  few  years  ago  the  mechanics  in  the  town  entered  into  an 
agreement  that  they  would  only  work  from  six  to  six  during  the 
summer  months,  and  from  seven  till  five  in  the  winter,  and  they 
offered  to  pay  a  certain  sum  to  the  Catholic  church  for  tolling 
the  bell  at  the  said  hours.  The  Oatholio  workmen  who  reside 
in  or  near  the  town,  adhere  strictly  to  this  rule,  and,  if  the 
season  is  ever  so  pressing,  they  obstinately  refuse  to  work  before 
or  after  the  stated  time.  I  have  seen,  on  our  own  little  farm, 
the  mower  fling  down  his  scythe  in  the  swathe,  and  the  harvest- 
man  his  sickle  in  the  ridge,  the  moment  the  bell  tolled  for  six. 

In  fact,  the  bell  in  this  respect  is  looked  upon  as  a  great  nui-   ^ 
sance ;  and  the  farmers  in  the  country  refuse  to  be  guided  by  it 
in  the  hours  allotted  for  field  labour ;  as  they  justly  remark  that 
the  best  time  for  hard  work  in  a  hot  country  is  before  six  in  the 
morning,  and  after  the  heat  of  the  day  in  the  evening. 

When  the  bell  commences  to  toll  there  is  a  long  pause  be- 
tween each  of  the  first  four  strokes.  This  is  to  allow  the  pious 
Catholic  time  for  crossing  himself  and  saying  a  dhort  prayer. 

How  much  of  the  ideal  mingles  with  this  worship  I  No  won- 
der that  the  Irish,  who  are  such  an  imaginative  people,  should 
cling  to  it  with  such  veneration.  Would  any  other  creed  suit  " 
them  as  well  ?  It  is  a  solemn  thing  to  step  into  their  churches, 
and  witness  the  intensity  of  their  devotions.  Beason  never 
raises  a  doubt  to  shake  t^o  oneness  of  their  faith.  They  receive 
it  on  the  credit  of  their  priests,  and  their  credulity  is  as  bound- 
less as  their  ignorance.  Often  have  I  asked  the  poor  Catholics 
in  my  employ  why  such  and  such  days  were  holy  days  ?  They 
could  seldom  tell  me,  but  said  that  ^Hhe  priest  told  them  to  keep 
them  holy,  and  to  break  them  would  be  a  deadly  sin." 


LIFK    IN    TUB    OLBARINGS. 


21 


I  caunot  but  respect  their  child-like  trust,  and  the  reverence 
they  feel  for  their  spiritual  teachers ;  nor  could  I  ever  bring 
myself  to  believe  that  a  conscientious  Oatholic  was  in  any  dan- 
ger of  r^ection  from  the  £nal  bar.  He  has  imposed  upon  him- 
self a  heavier  yoke  than  the  Saviour  kindly  laid  upon  him^  and 
has  enslaved  himself  with  a  thousand  superstitious  observances 
which  to  US  appear  absurd ;  but  his  sincerity  should  awaken  in 
us  an  affectionate  interest  in  his  behalf,  not  engender  the  bitter 
hatred  which  at  present  forms  an  adamantine  barrier  between 
us.  If  the  Protestant  would  give  up  a  little  of  his  bigotry,  and 
the  Oatholic  a  part  of  his  superstition,  and  they  would  consent 
to  meet  each  other  half  way,  as  brothers  of  one  oonmion  man- 
hood, inspired  by  the  same  Ohristian  hope,  and  bound  to  the 
same  heavenly  country,  we  should  no  longer  see  the  orange 
banner  flaunting  our  streets  on  the  twelfth  of  July,  and  natives 
of  the  same  island  provoking  each  other  to  acts  of  violence  and 

bloodshed. 
These  hostile  encounters  are  of  yearly  occurrence  in  the 

colony,  and  are  justly  held  in  abhorrence  by  the  pious  and 

thinking  portion  of  the  population  of  either  denomination.    The 

government  has  for  many  years  vainly  endeavored  to  put  them 

down,  but  they  still  pollute  with  their  moral  leprosy  the  free 

institutions  of  the  country,  and  effectually  prevent  any  friendly 

feeling  which  might  grow  up  between  the  members  of  these 

rival  and  hostile  creeds.  '  .-> 

In  Canada,  where  all  religions  are  tolerated,  it  appears  a  use- 
less aggravation  of  an  old  national  grievance  to  perpetuate  the 
memory  of  the  battle  of  the  Boyne.  What  have  we  to  do  with 
the  hatreds  and  animosities  of  a  more  barbarous  age.  These 
things  belong  to  the  past :  "  Let  the  dead  bury  ^their  dead," 
and  let  us  form  for  ourselves  a  holier  and  truer  present.  The 
old  quarrel  between  Irish  Oatholics  and  Protestants  should  have 
been  sunk  in  the  ocean  when  they  left  their  native  country  to 
find  a  home,  unpolluted  by  the  tyruinies  of  bygone  ages,  in  the 
wilds  of  Oanada. 

The  larger  portion  of  our  domestics  are  from  Ireland,  and  as 
far  as  my  experience  goes,  I  have  found  the  Oatholic  Irish  as 
faithful  and  trustworthy  as  the  Protestants.    The  tendency  to 


! 


22 


Lira  IN  TBI   OLSARINOS. 


\ 


' 


,  *  belon^pipillf)  race,  not  to  thtf  religion,  or  the  Proteetant 
w^  '\  not  exhitH^  r)i«  0»ine  yindiotiye  spirit  which  marks  his 
Oathu^o  brother.  They  (yreak  and  destroy  more  than  tho 
ProtestAnts,  but  that  spriiigH  trom  the  reckless  oarelesftnctM  of 
their  character  more  than  trom  any  malice  against  tht:lr  em- 
ployers, if  yoii  may  Jndge  by  the  bad  usage  they  c^ve  their 
own  hoQgehoId  goods  and  *ools.  The  prineiple  on  irhioh  they 
^te  is  literally  to  care  as  little  as  possible  for  the  things  of  to- 
day, and  to  take  no  thought  at  all  for  the  morrow.  ^w. . 

*'  Shnre,  Ma^ara,  it  can  be  nsed,"  said  an  Irish  girl  to  me,  after 
breaking  the  spout  of  an  expensive  china  Jug,  "It  is  not  a  hair 
the  worse  I "  She  conld  not  imagine  that  a  mutilated  object 
could  occasion  the  least  discomfort  to  those  accustomed  to  or^«r 
and  neatness  in  their  household  arrangements.  '  * 

The  Irish  female  servants  are  remarkably  chaste  in  then  lan- 
guage and  deportment.  You  are  often  obliged  to  find  fault  with 
them  for  gross  acts  of  neglect  and  wastefulness,  but  never  for 
using  bad  language.  They  may  spoil  your  children  by  over  in- 
dulgence, but  they  never  corrupt  their  morals  by  loose  conver- 
sation. 

An  Irish  g^rl  once  told  me,  with  beautiful  simplicity,  "  that 
every  bad  word  a  woman  utterod,  made  the  blessed  Virgin  hltuhy 

A  girl  becoming  a  mc'jier  before  marriage  is  regarded  as  a 
dreadful  calamity  by  hor  family,  and  she  seldom,  if  ever,  gets 
one  of  her  own  countrymen  to  marry  her  with  this  stain  on  her 
character. 

How  different  is  the  conduct  of  the  female  peasantry  in  the 
eastern  counties  of  England,  who  unblushingly  avow  their  dere- 
lictions from  the  paths  of  virtue.  The  crime  of  infanticide,  so 
common  there,  is  almost  unknown  among  the  Irish.  If  the 
priest  and  the  confessional  are  able  to  restrain  flo  lower  orders 
from  the  commission  of  grog's  crime,  who  shah  bj*/  ^  tf '.  they  are 
without  their  use?  It  is  true  that  the  priest  .'  :i  're  ises  his 
power  over  his  flock  in  a  manner  which  would  appear  to  a  Pro- 
testant to  border  on  the  ludicrous.  -^  ^ 
'  A  girl  who  lived  with  a  lady  of  my  acquaintance,  gave  the 
>,  'owing  graphic  account  of  an  exhortation  delivered  by  the 
r.r..  .  ti  thf« ;  !tar.    I  give  it  in  her  own  words : — 


m 


Lira   IN   TRK   OLKARINOB. 


"  Shnre,  Ma*ATrr,  Wu  got  a  g^eat  Rcoald  from  the  {JHti^  tR* 
day."  "Indeed,  BM'ly,  wluit  «Iid  he  scold  you  for?"  "Faix, 
and  it*>  not  nieflelf  that  iie  scoulded  at  all,  at  all,  but  Ifisther 
PetOT  N"— —  and  J  >hn  L— -,  n'  he  held  them  up  au  an  ex* 
ample  to  the  whole  church.  'Peter  JN——-' says  he,  'you  liave 
not  been  inside  this  churcl'  before  to-day  lor  the  last  three 
montlis,  and  yon  have  not  paid  your  pew-rent  for  the  last  two 
years.  But,  maybe,  yon  have  got  the  fourteen  dollars  in 
your  pockets  at  this  moment  of  spaking ;  or  mayl^  you  have 
flpint  it  in  buying  pigiron  to  make  gridirons,  in  order  to  fry  your 
mate  of  a  Friday ;  and  when  your  praste  comes  to  visit  you,  if 
he  does  not  see  it  itself,  he  smells  it.  And  you,  John  L  ■, 
Alderman  L  »  ■■,  are  not  six  days  enough  in  the  week  for  work 
and  pastime,  that  you  must  go  hunting  of  hares  on  a  holi- 
day? And  pray  how  many  hares  did  you  catch,  Alderman 
John?'" 

The  point  of  the  last  satire  lay  in  the  fact  that  the  said  Al- 
derman John  was  known  to  be  an  ambitious,  but  very  poor,  • 
sportsman ;  which  made  the  allusion  to  the  Tia/reB  I  o  had  shot 
the  unkindest  cut  of  all. 

Such  an  oration  from  a  Proteftta&t  minister  tronld  Lave  led  his 
congregation  to  imagine  that  their  good  pastor  hat?  lost  his 
wits ;  but  I  have  no  doubt  that  it  was  eminently  successful  in 
abstracting  the  fourteen  dollars  from  the  pocket  of  the  dilatory 
Peter  N— — — ,  and  in  preventing  Alderman  John  frotu  hunting 
hares  on  a  holiday  for  the  time  to  come. 

Most  of  the  Irish  priests  possess  a  great  deal  of  h  imour, 
which  always  finds  a  response  in  their  mirth-loving  cc  untry- 
men,  to  whom  wit  is  a  quality  of  native  growth. 

"  I  wish  yon  a  happy  death,  Pat  S — — "  said  Mr.  R ^ 

the  jolly,  black-browed  priest  of  P ,  after  he  had  married  an 

old  servant  of  ours,  who  had  reached  the  patriarchal  age  of  &  xty- 
eight,  to  an  old  woman  of  seventy.  -   '    •  *^ 

"  D dear  of  it  I"  quoth  Pat,  smiting  his  Ifciglr,  with  a  look 

of  inimitable  drollery, — such  a  look  of  broad  humour  as  can 
alone  twinkle  from  the  eyes  of  an  emeralder  of  that  class.  Pat 
was  a  prophet ;  in  less  than  six  months  he  brought  the  body  of 
the  youthful  bride  in  a  wagon  to  the  house  of  the  said  priest  to 


*;i 


$4 


UFK   IN   THB   CLKARINOS. 


A 


h 


be  buried,  and,  for  augbt  I  know  to  the  coi^  .rary,  the  old  man  is 
living  still,  and  very  likely  to  treat  himself  to  a  third  wife. 

I  woB  told  two  amnsing  anecdotes  of  the  late  Bishop  Hacdon- 
ald ;  a  man  whose  memory  is  held  in  great  veneration  in  the 
province,  which  I  will  g^ve  you  here. 

The  old  bishop  was  crossing  the  Bice  Lake  in  a  birch  bark 
canoe,  in  company  with  Mr.  R— -,  the  Pre^yterian  minister  of 
Peterboro';  the  day  was  rather  stormy,  and  the  water  rough  for 
such  a  fragile  conveyance.  The  bishop,  who  had  been  many 
years  in  t^e  country,  knew  there  was  little  danger  to  be  appre- 
hended if  they  sat  still,  and  he  had  perfect  reliance  in  the  skill 
of  their  Indian  boatman.  Kot  so  Mr.  B-— ,  he  had  only  been 
a  few  months  in  the  colony,  and  this  was  the  first  time  he  had 
ever  ventured  upon  the  water  in  such  a  tottleish  machine.  In- 
stead of  remaining  quietly  seated  in  the  bottom  of  the  canoe,  he 
endeavoured  to  start  to  his  feet,  which  would  inevitably  have 
upset  it.  This  rash  movement  was  prevented  by  the  bishop,  who 
forcibly  pulled  him  down  into  a  sitting  posture,  excldming,  as 
he  did  so,  "Keep  still,  my  good  sir;  if  you,  by  your  groundless 
fears,  upset  the  canoe,  your  protestant  friends  vnll  swear  that  the 
old  papist  drowned  the  presbyterian." 

One  hot,  sultry  July  evening,  the  celebrated  Dr.  Dnnlop  called 
to  have  a  chat  with  the  bishop,  who,  knowing  the  doctor''s  weak 
point,  his  fondness  for  strong  drinks,  and  his  almost  rabid  anti- 
pathy to  water,  asked  him  if  he  would  take  a  draught  of  Edin- 
burgh ale,  as  he  had  just  received  a  cask  in  a  present  from  the 
old  country.  The  doctor^s  thirst  grew  to  a  perfect  drought,  and 
he  exclaimed  "  that  nothing  at  that  moment  could  afford  him 
greater  pleasure."      .  » 

The  bell  was  rung;  the  spruce,  neat  servant  girl  appeared,  and 
was  forthwith  commissioned  to  take  the  bishop's  own  silver  tank- 
ard and  draw  the  thirsty  doctor  a  pint  of  ale. 

The  girl  quickly  returned ;  the  impatient  doctor  grasped  the 
nectarian  draught,  and,  without  glancing  into  the  tankard — ^for 
the  time.  ;' 


"  Was  that  soft  hour  'twixt  summer's  eve  and  close," — 


■^* 


emptied  the  greater  part  of  its  contents  down  his  throat.    A 


UFJB   IN   THE   CLBARIN08. 


25 


spasmodic  coutortion  and  a  sadden  rosh  to  the  open  window  sur- 
prised the  hospitable  bishop,  who  had  anticipated  a  great  treat 
for  his  guest :  "  My  dear  sir,"  he  cried,  ^'  what  can  be  the  mat- 
ter!" 

"  Oh,  that  diabolical  stuff  1"  groaned  the  doctQr.  "  I  am  poi- 
soned. 

"Oh,  never  fear,"  said  the  bishop,  examining  the  liqnid  that 
still  remained  in  the  tankard,  and  bursting  into  a  hearty  laugh, 
"  It  may  not  agree  with  a  Protestant's  stomach,  but  believe  me, 
dear  doctor,  you  never  took  such  a  wholesome  drink  in  your  life 
before.  I  was  lately  sent  from  Bbme  a  cask  of  holy  water, — it 
stands  in  the  same  cellar  with  the  al«, — I  put  a  little  salt  into  it, 
in  order  to  preserve  it  during  this  hot  weather,  and  the  girl,  by 
mistake,  has  given  you  the  consecrated  water  instead  of  the 
ale."  „  * 

"Oh,  curse  her!"  cried  the  tortured  doctor.  "I  wish  it  was 
in  her  stomach  instead  of  mine  I"  ^ 

The  bishop  used  to  tell  this  story  with  great  glee  whenever 
Dr.  Dunlop  and  his  eccentric  habits  formed  the  theme  of  con- 
y^sation. 

That  the  Catholics  do  not  always  act  with  hostility  towards 
their  Protestant  brethren,  the  following  anecdote,  which  it  gives 
me  great  pleasure  to  relate,  will  sufficiently  show :— ^  n 

In  the  December  of  1840  we  had  the  misfortune  to  be  burnt 
out,  and  lost  a  great  part  of  our  furniture,  clothing,  and  winter 
stores.  Poor  as  we  then  were,  this  could  not  be  regarded  in  any 
other  light  but  as  a  great  calamity.  Duiing  the  confusion  occa- 
sioned by  the  fire,  and,  owing  to  the  negligence  of  a  servant  to 
whose  care  he  was  especially  confided,  my  youngest  child,  a  fine 
boy  of  two  years  old,  was  for  some  time  missing.  The  agony  I 
endured  for  about  half  an  hour  I  shall  never  forget.  The  roar^^ 
ing  fiaines,  the  impending  misfortune  that  hung  over  us,  was 
forgotten  in  the  terror  Uiat  shook  my  mind  lest  he  had  become  a 
victim  to  the  flames.  He  was  at  length  found  by  a  kind  neigh- 
bour in  the  kitchen  of  the  burning  bmldiug,  whither  he  had 
crept  from  among  the  crowd,  and  was  scarcely  rescued  before 
the  roof  fell  in.  ^ 

^This  circumstance  shook  my  nerves  so  completely  that  I  gladly 


'/". 


m 


LllTJB   IV   THK    CLRAKIN08. 


i  ' 


: 


accepted  the  offer  of  a  female  friend  to  leave  the  exciting  scene, 
and  make  her  house  my  home  until  we  could  procure  another.  , 

I  was  sitting  at  her  parlour  window,  with  the  rescued  child 
on  my  lap,  whom  I  could  not  hear  for  a  moment  out  of  my 
sight,  watching  tlie  smoking  hrands  that  had  once  composed  my 
home,  and  sadly  pondering  over  our  untoward  destiny,  when 

Mrs. ^*s  servant  told  me  that  a  gentleman  wanted  to  see  me 

in  the  drawing-room.  '  -^ 

With  little  Jolmnle  still   in  ray  arms  I  went  to  receive  the 

visitor ;  and  found  the  Rev.  Father  B y  the  worthy  Catholic 

priest,  waiting  to  receive  me. 

At  tliat  time  I  knew  very' little  of  Father  B .    Calls  had 

been  exchanged,  and  we  had  been  much  pleased  with  his  cour- 
teous manners  and  racy  Irish  wit.  I  shall  never  forget  the 
kind,  earnest  manner  in  which  he  condoled  with  me  on  oin* 
present  misfortune.  He  did  not,  however,  confine  his  sympat  1  v 
to  words,  but  offering  me  the  use  of  his  neat  cottage  uritjl  wt 
could  provide  ourselves  with  anothw  house. 

"  Yon  know,"  he  said,  with  a  benevolent  smile,  "  I  have  no 
family  to  be  distm-bed  by  the  noise  of  the  children ;  and  if  you 
wiU  accept  the  temporary  home  I  offer  yon,  it  is  entirely  at  your 
service;  and,"  he  continued,  lowering  his  voice,  "if  the  sheriff 
is  in  want  of  money  to  pi'ocnre  necessaries  for  his  family,  I  can 
supply  him  until  such  time  as  he  is  able  to  repay  me." 

This  was  truly  noble,  and  I  thanked  liim  with  tears  in  my  eyes. 
We  did  not  accept  the  generous  offer  of  this  good  Samaritan ; 
but  we  have  always  felt  a  grateful  remembrance  of  his  kindness. 
Mr.  B  '  •  had  been  one  of  the  most  active  among  the  many 
gentlemen  who  did  their  best  in  trying  to  save  our  property  from 
the  flames,  a  great  portion  of  which  was  safely  conveyed  to  the 
street.  But  here  a  system  of  pillage  was  carried  on  by  the  heart- 
loss  beings,  who  regard  fires  and  wreck  as  their  especial  harvest, 
wl  ioh  entirely  frustrated  the  efforts  of  the  generous  and  brave 
men  who  had  done  so  much  to  help  us.  ■       i 

How  many  odd  things  hapi>en  during  a  fire,  which  would  call 
up  a  hearty  laugh  upon  a  less  serious  occasion.  I  saw  one  man 
pitch  a  handsome  charaberglass  out  of  an  upper  window  into 
tiie  sfereet.  in  order  to 


QUrt/O    lU  I 


At-    -_ 


while  auother,  at  the  risk  of  his 


if/ 


UFS   IN    THB   0LBARIH6B. 


21 


lifo,  carried  a  bottomless  china  jug,  which  had  long  been  use- 
less, down  the  burning  staircase,  and  seeoied  quite  elated  with 
his  suoooss^  and  a  carpenter  took  off  the  doors,  and  removed  the 
window-6a8hes,in  order  to  i»reserye  them,  and,  by  sending  a  rush 
of  air  through  the  burning  edifice,  aoeelerated  itsdestrmction. 

At  that  time  Uiere  was  only  one  fir«-eagine  in  the  tows,  and 
that  was  not  in  a  state  to  work.  Now  th^  have  two  excellent 
engines,  worked  by  an  active  and  energetic  body  of  men. 

In  all  the  principal  towns  and  cities  in  the  colony,  a  large  por- 
tion of  the  younger  nude  inhabitants  enrol  themselves  into  a 
company  for  the  suppression  of  iire.  It  is  a  voluntary  service, 
from  which  they  receive  no  emolument,  without  an  exemption 
from  filling  the  office  of  a  juryman  may  be  considered  as  an  ad- 
vantage. These  men  act  upon  a  principle  of  mutual  safety ;  and 
the  exertions  which  are  made  by  them,  in  the  hour  of  danger 
are  truly  wonderful,  and  serve  to  e^ow  what  can  be  effected  by 
men  when  they  work  in  unison  together. 
j^To  the  Canadian  fire-companies  the  public  is  indebted  for  the 
preservation  of  life  and  property  by  a  thousand  heroic  acts;—*, 
deeds,  that  would  be  recorded  as  surprising  efforts  <^  human 
courage,  if  performed  upon  the  battle-field ;  and  which  often  ex- 
hibit an  exalted  benevolence,  when  exercised  in  rescuing  help* 
less  women  and  children  from  eadb.  a  dreadful  enemy  as  fire.       *■ 

The  costume  adopted  by  the  firemen  is  riather  becoming  than 
otherwise: — ^a  tight-fitting  frock-coat  of  coarse  red  cloth,  and 
white  trousers  in  sununer,  which  latter  portion  of  their  dress  is 
exchanged  for  dark  blue  in  the  winter.  They  wear  a  glazed 
black  leather  cap,  of  a  military  cut,  when  they  assemble  to  work 
their  engines,  or  walk  in  procession ;  and  a  leather  hat  like  a 
sailor's  nor'-wester,  with  a  long  peak  bebiiwL,  to  protect  them 
from  iiyury,  when  on  active  duty.  ;     'i 

jTheir  members  are  confined  to  no  particular  class.  Gentlemen 
and  mechanics  work  side  by  side  in  t^is  fraternity,  with  a  zeal 
and  right  good  will  that  is  truly  edifying.  Their  system  appears 
an  excellent  one;  and  I  never  heard  of  any  dissension  among 
their  ranks  when,  their  services  were  required.  The  sound  of 
the  ominous  bell  calls  ^em  to  tha  spot.  fr(wn  th a  greatest  dj»- 


'/^ 


«pMl|i 


d§ 


UFS   IN   THE   OLKARINGB. 


tance ;  and,  during  the  moet  stonny  nights,  whoever  skulks  in 
bed,  the  fireman  is  sure  to  be  at  his  post. 

Once  a  year,  the  different  divisions  of  the  company  walk  in 
procession  through  the  town.  On  this  occasion  their  engines  are 
dressed  np  with  flags  bearing  appropriate  mottoes;  and  they 
are  preceded  by  a  band  of  music.  The  companies  are  generally 
composed  of  men  in  the  very  prime  of  life,  and  they  make  a  very 
imposing  appearance.  It  is  always  a  great  gala  day  in  the  town, 
and  terminates  with  a  public  dinner ;  that  Is  followed  by  a  ball 
in  the  evening,  at  which  the  wives  and  daughters  of  the  members 
of  the  company  are  expected  to  appear.  - 

Once  a  month  tlie  firemen  are  called  out  to  practise  with  the 
engine  in  the  streets,  to  the  infinite  delight  of  all  the  boys  in  the 
neighbourhood,  who  follow  the  engine  in  crowds,  and  provoke 
the  operators  to  turn  the  hose  and  i^ay  upon  their  merry  ranko : 
and  then  what  laughing  and  shouting  and  scampering  in  all 
directions,  as  the  ragged  urchins  shake  their  dripping  garments, 
and  fly  from  the  ducking  they  had  courted  a  few  minutes 
before!  i 

The  number  of  wooden  buildings  that  compose  the  larger  por- 
tion of  Oanadian  towns  renders  fire  a  calamity  of  very  frequent 
occurrence,  and  persons  cannot  be  too  particular  in  regard  to  it. 
The  negligence  of  one  ignorant  servant  in  the  disposal  of  her 
ashes,  may  involve  the  safety  of  the  whole  community. 

As  long  as  the  generulity  of  the  houses  are  roofed  with  shin- 
gles, this  liability  to  fire  must  exist  as  a  necessary  consequence. 

The  shingle  is  a  very  thin  pine-board,  which  is  used  throughout 
the  colony  instead  of  slate  or  tiles.  After  a  few  years,  the  heat 
and  rain  roughen  the  outward  surface,  and  give  it  a  woolly 
appearance,  rendering  the  slungles  as  inflammable  as  tinder.  A 
spark  from  a  chimney  may  be  conveyed  from  a  great  distance  on 
a  windy  day,  and  lighting  upon  the  furry  surface  of  these  roofs, 
id  sure  to  ignite.  The  danger  spreads  on  all  sides,  and  the  roofs 
of  a  whole  street  will  be  burning  before  the  fire  communicates  to 
tlie  walls  of  the  buildings. 

So  many  destructive  fires  have  occurred  of  late  years  through- 
oat  the  colony  that  a  law.  has  been  enacted  by  the  municipal 


LIFB    IN    TUB    OLBAJIIKOS. 


20 


ooancils  to  prevent  the  erection  of  wooden  buildings  in  the  large 
cities.  But  without  the  additiontd  precaution  of  fire-proof  roofis, 
the  prohibition  will  not  produce  very  beneficial  efiTects. 

Two  other  very  pretty  churches  occupy  the  same  hill  with  the- 
Gatholic  and  Episcopal, — the  Scotch  Residuary,  and  the  F^ee 
Ghuroli.  The  latter  is  built  of  dark  limestone^  quarried  in.  the 
neighbourhood,  and  is  a  remarkably  grao^ul  structure.  It  has 
been  raised  by  the  hearty  goodwill  and  free  donations  of  its  con- 
gi'egation ;  and  affords  another  capital  illustration  of  the  working 
of  the  voluntary  principle. 

To  the  soul-fettering  doctrines  of  John  Oalvin  I  am  myself  no 
convert;  nor  do  I  think  that  the  churches  established  on  his 
views  will  very  long  exist  in  the  world.  Stem,  uncompromising^ 
unloveble  and  unloved,  an  object  of  fear  ratHer  than  of  affection, 
John  Calvin  stands  out  the  incarnation  of  his  own  Deity ;  veritj^^ 
ing  one  of  the  noblest  and  truest  sentences  ever  penned  by  man ; 
— "  As  the  man,  so  his  God.  God  is  his  idea  of  excellence, — the 
compliment  of  his  own  being." 

The  Residuary  church  is  a  small  neat  building  of  wood,  painted 
white.  For  several  years  after  the  great  split  in  the  National 
Ghnrch  of  Scotland,  it  was  shut  up,  the  few  who  still  adhered  to 
the  old  way  being  unable  to  contribute  much  to  the  support  of 
a  minister.  The  church  has  been  reopened  within  the  last  two 
years,  and^  though  the  congregation  is  very  small,  has  a  regular 
pastor. 

The  large  edifice  beneath  us,  in  Pinaele-street,  leading  to  the 
bay,  is  the  Wesleyan  Methodist  church,  or  chapel,  as  it  would  be 
termed  at  home.  Thanks  to  the  liberal  institutions  of  the 
country,  such  distinctions  are  unknown  in  Ganada.  Every 
community  of  Christian  worshippers  is  rightly  termed  a  church. 
The  Church  is  only  arrogated  by  one. 

The  Wesleyans,  who  have  been  of  infinite  use  in  spreading  the 
Gospel  on  the  North  American  continent,  possess  a  numerous 
and  highly  respectable  congregation  in  this  place.  Their  church 
is  always  supplied  with  good  and  efficient  preachers,  and  is  filled 
on  the  Sabbath  to  overfiowing.  They  have  a  very  fine  choir, 
and  lately  purchased  an  or«in,  which  was  construeted  by  one  of 


./ 


81) 


LIFS  117  THB  CLEARINGS. 


m 


th(#  bli%  toi^lfers,  a  genius  in  his  way,  for  which  they  gave  the 
handsome  snm  of  a  thousand  dollars. 

There  is  also  an  Episcopal  Methodist  church,  composed  of  red 
brick,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  town,  by  the  river  side,  which  is    , 
well  attended. 

You  can  scarcely  adopt  a  better  plan  of  judging  of  the  wealth  » 
and  prosperity  of  a  town,  than  by  watching,  of  a  Sabbath  morn- 
ing, the  congregations  of  the  different  denominations  going  to  ' 
church. 

Belleville  weekly  presents  to  the  eye  of  an  observing  spectator 
a  large  body  of  well-dressed,  happy-looking  people, — ^robust,  ■■■. 
healthy,  independent  looking  men,  and  well-formed,  handsome 
women ; — an  air  of  content  and  comfort  resting  upon  their 
comely  faces,— ^no  look  of  haggard  care  and  pinching  want 
marring  the  quiet  solemnity  of  the  scene. 

The  dress  of  the  higher  class  is  not  only  cut  in  the  newest 
French  fashion,  imported  from  Kew  York,  but  is  generally  com- 
posed of  rich  and  expensive  materials.  The  Oanadian  lady 
dresses  weU  and  tastefully,  and  carries  herself  easily  and  grace- 
Ailly.  She  is  not  imconsoious  of  the  advantages  of  a  pretty  face 
and  figure ;  but  her  knowledge  of  the  fact  is  not  exhibited  in  an 
'  affected  or  disagreeable  manner.  The  lower  class  are  not  a  whit 
"'behind  their  wealthier  neighbours  in  outward  adornments.  And 
the  poor  emigrant,  wlio  only  a  few  months  previously  had  landed 
in  rags,  is  now  dressed  neatly  and  respectably.  The  conscious- 
ness of  their  newly-acquired  freedoni  has  raised  them  in  the  scale 
of  society,  in  their  own  estimation,  and  in  that  of  their  fellows. 
They  feel  that  they  are  no  longer  despised;  the  ample  wagea 
they  receive  has  enabled  them  to  cast  off  the  slough  of  hopeless 
poverty,  which  once  threw  its  deadening  influence  over  them, 
repressing  all  their  energies,  and  destroying  that  self-respect 
which  is  so  necessary  to  mental  improvement  and  self-govern- 
ment. The  change  in  their  condition  is  apparent  in  their  smiling, 
satisfied  faces. 

This  is,  indeed,  a  delightAil  contrast  to  the  squalid  want  and 
poverty  which  so  often  meet  the  eye,  and  pain  the  heart  of  the 


iUUnUUlX  1/uiob  at  ilOIuv. 


1 1/^10  ll 


Canada  is  blessed  in  the  almost  total 


LIFE   IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


»1 


absence  of  panperism ;  for  nono  but  the  wilfully  idle  and  vioions 
need  stArve  here,  while  the  wants  of  the  sick  and  infirm  meet 
with  ready  help  and  sympathy  from  a  most  charitable  public 

The  Wesleyan  Methodists  wisely  placed  their  burying-groraid 
at  some  distance  f^om  the  town;  and  when  we  first  came  to 
reside  at  Belleville,  it  was  a  retired  and  lovely  spot,  on  the 
Kingston  road,  commanding  a  fine  view  of  the  bay.  The  rapid 
spread  of  the  village  into  a  town  almost  embraces  in  its  arms 
this  once  solitary  spot,  and  in  a  few  years  it  will  be  surrounded 
with  suburban  residences. 

There  is  a  very  large  brick  field  acyoining  this  cemetery,  which 
employs  daring  the  summer  months  a  number  of  hands. 

Turn  to  the  north,  and  observe  that  old-fashioned,  red-brick 
house,  now  tottering  to  decay,  that  crowns  the  precipitous  ridge 
that  overlooks  the  river,  and  which  doubtless  at  some  very  dis- 
tant period  once  formed  its  right  bank.  That  house  was  built  by 
one  of  the  first  settlers  in  Belleville,  an  officer  who  drew  his  lot 
of  wild  land  on  that  spot.  It  was  a  great  house  in  those  days, 
and  he  was  a  great  man  in  the  eyes  of  his  poorer  neighbours. 

This  gentleman  impoverished  himself  and  his  family  by  sup- 
plying jfrom  his  own  means  the  wants  of  the  poor  emigrants  in 
his  vicimty  during  the  great  Canadian  famine,  which  happened 
about  fifty  years  ago.  The  starving  creatures  promised  to  repay 
him  at  some  future  period.  Plenty  again  blessed  the  land ;  but 
the  generous  philanthropist  was  forgotten  by  those  his  bounty 
had  saved.  Peace  to  his  memory!  Though  unrewarded  on 
earth,  he  has  doubtless  reaped  his  reward  in  heaven. 

The  river  Moira,  which  runs  parallel  with  the  main  street  of 
the  town,  and  traverses  several  fine  townships  belonging  to  the 
county  of  Hastings  in  its  course  to  the  bay,  is  a  rapid  and  very 
pictjiresque  stream.  Its  rocky  banks,  which  are  composed  of 
limestone,  are  fringed  with  the  graceful  cedar,  soft  maple,  and 
elegant  rook  elm,  that  queen  of  the  Canadian  forest.  It  is  not 
navigable,  but  is  one  great  source  of  the  wealth  and  prosperity 
of  the  place,  affording  all  along  its  course  excellent  sites  for  mills, 
distilleries,  and  factories,  while  it  is  the  main  road  down  which 
millions  of  feet  of  timber  are  yearly  floated,  to  be  rafted  at  the 
entrance  of  the  bay.      ^    -^       .  - 


/ 


88 


LIF£    IN   THIS   OLEAKINGS. 


The  spring  floods  bring  down  such  a  vast  amount  of  lumber, 
that  often  a  jam,  as  it  |s  technically  called,  places  the  two 
bridges  that  span  the  river  in  a  state  of  blockade. 

It  is  a  stirring  and  amusing  scene  to  watch  the  French  Oana- 
,dian  lumberers,  with  their  long  poles,  armed  at  the  end  with 
sharp  spikes,  leaping  from  log  to  log,  and  fredug  a  passage  for  ^ 
the  crowded  timbers. 
Handsome  in  person,  and  lithe  and  active  as  wild-cats,  yon 

.  would  imagine,  to  watch  their  careless  disregard  of  danger,  that 
they  were  born  of  the  waters,  and  considei'ed  death  by  drown-  • 
ing  an  impossible  casualty  in  their  case.    Yet  never  a  season 
passes  without  fatal  accidents  thinning  their  gay,  light-hearted 
ranks. 

These  amphibious  creatures  spend  half  theur  lives  in  and  on  . 
the  waters.    They  work  hard  in  forming  rafts  at  the  entrance 
of  the  bay  during  the  day,  and  in  the  evening  they  repfdr  to 
some  favorite  tavern,  where  they  spend  the  greater  part  of  the 
night  in  singing  and  dancing.    Their  peculiar  cries  awaken  you 
by  day-break,  and  their  joyous  shouts  and  songs  are  wafted  on  ? 
the  evening  breeze.    Their  picturesque  dress  and  shanties,  when  . 
shown  by  their  red  watch-fires  along  the  rocky  banks  of  the 
river  at  night,  add  great  liveliness,  and  give  a  peculiarly  romantic 
character  to  the  water  scene. 

They  appear  a  happy,  harmless  set  of  men,  brave  and  inde- 
pendent; and  if  drinking  and  swearing  are  vices  common  to 

'  their  caste  and  occupation,  it  can  scarcely  be  wondered  at  in  the 

;  wild,  reckless,  roving  life  they  lead.    They  never  trouble  the 
peaceful  inhabitants  of  the  town.    Their  broils  are  chiefly  con- 

-  fined  to  their  Irish  comrades,  and  seldom  go  beyond  the  scene  of 
their  mutual  labour.    It  is  not  often  that  they  find  their  way  i 
into  the  jaU  or  penitentiary. 

A  young  lady  told  me  of  an  adventure  that  befel  her  and  her 
sister,  which  is  rather  a  droll  illustration  of  the  manners  of  a 
French  Ganadian  lumberer.  They  were  walking  one  fine  snm^ 
mer  evening  along  the  west  bank  of  the  Moira,  and  the  narrator,' 
in  stooping  over  the  water  to  gather  some  wild  flowers  that  grew,, 
in  a  crevice  of  the  rocks,  dropped  her  parasol  into  the  river.  ^ 
cry  of  vexation  at  the  loss  of  an  article  of  dress,  which  is  espeu- 


LII-B   IN  THB   CLEARINGS. 


88 


sive,  and  almost  indiapensable  beneath  the  rayt  of  a  Canadian 
summer  son,  burst  from  her  lips,  and  attracted  tht  lention  of 
a  young  man  whom  she  had  not  before  observed,  who  was  swim- 
ming at  some  distance  down  the  river.  He  immediately  turned, 
and  dexterously  catching  the  parasol  as  it  swiftly  glided  past 
him,  sWam  towards  the  ladies  with  the  resened  article,  carried 
dog-fashion,  between  his  teeth. 

In  his  zeal  to  render  this  little  service,  the  poor  fellow  forgot 
that  he  was  not  in  a  condition  to  appear  before  ladies;  who, 
startled  at  such  an  extraordinary  apparition,  made  the  best  of 
their  heels  to  fly  precipitately  from  the  spot. 

"  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  Miss  ,  laughing,  "  that  the 

gc  od-natured  fellow  meant  well,  but  I  never  was  so  frightened 
and  confounded  in  my  life.  The  next  morning  the  parasol  was 
returned  at  the  street  door,  with  '*  Jean  Baptiste^s  compliments 
to  the  young  ladies."    So  much  for  French  Canadian  gallantry. 

It  is  a  pretty  sight.  A  large  raft  of  timber,  extending  perhaps 
for  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  gliding  down  the  bay  in  tow  of  a  steamer, 
decorated  with  red  flags  and  green  pine  boughs,  and  managed  by 
a  set  of  bold  active  fellows,  whose  jovial  songs  waken  up  the 
echoes  of  the  lonely  woods.  I  have  seen  several  of  these  rafts, 
containing  many  thousand  pounds'  worth  of  timber,  taking  their 
downward  course  in  one  day. 

The  centre  of  the  raft  is  generally  occupied  by  a  shanty  and 
cooking  apparatus,  and  at  i^ght  it  presents  an  imposing  specta- 
cle, seen  by  the  red  light  of  their  fires,  as  it  glides  beneath  the 
shadow  of  some  lofby  bank,  with  its  dark  overhanging  treed. 
I  have  often  coveted  a  sail  on  those  picturesque  rafts,  over  those 
smooth  moonlighted  waters. 

The  spring-^ooda  bring  with  them  a  great  quimtity  of  waste 
timber  and  falj^en  trees  from  the  interior ;  and.it  is  amusing  to 
wat<^  the.  poor  Irishwomen  and  children  wading  to  the  waist  in 
the  water,  and  drawing  out  these  waifs  and  strays  with  hooked 
sticks,  to  supply  their  shanties  with  fuel.  It  is  astonishing  how 
much  an  industrious  lad  can  secure  in  a  day  of  this  refuse  tim- 
ber. liTo  gleaner  ever  enters  a  harvest-field  in  Canada  to  secure 
a  small  portion  of  the  scattered  grain ;  but  the  floating  treasures 
which  the  waters  yield  are  regarded  as  a  providential  supply  of 


34 


LIfS  IK  TBB  OLKARINOB. 


firing,  which  is  al-jv^ays  gathered  in.  These  spring-floods  are 
often  prodaotive  of  great  mischief,  as  they  not  unft'eqnently  carry 
away  all  the  dams  and  bridges  along  their  course.  This  gene- 
rally happens  after  an  unusually  severe  winter,  accompanied 
with  very  heavy  falls  of  snow. 

The  melting  of  the  snows  in  the  back  country,  by  filling  all 
the  tributary  creeks  and  streams,  converts  the  larger  rivers  into 
headlong  and  destructive  torrents,  that  rush  and  foam  along 
with  "  curbless  force,"  carrying  huge  blocks  of  ice  and  large  tim- 
bers, like  feathers  upon  their  surfkce. 

It  is  a  grand  and  beautiful  sight,  the  coming  down  of  the 
waters  during  one  of  these  spring  ft-eshets.  Ihe  river  roars  and 
ragei:  like  a  chafed  lion ;  and  frets  and  foams  against  its  rocky 
barrier,  as  if  determined  to  overcome  every  obstacle  that  dares 
to  impede  ite  furious  course.  Great  blocks  of  ice  ar6  syjn  pop- 
ping up  iUid  down  in  the  boiling  surges ;  and  unvrieldy  &aw-log8 
perform  the  most  extravagant  capers,  often  starting  bolt  upright; 
while  their  crystal  neighbours,  enrs^d  at  the  unconrteous  colli- 
sion, turn  up  their  glittering  sea-green  edges  with  an  air  of  defiance, 
and  tumble  about  in  the  current  like  mad  monsters  of  the  deep. 

These  blocks  of  ice  are  sometimes  lifted  entirely  out  of  the 
water  by  the  force  of  the  cuiTent,  and  depo«iited  upon  the  top  of 
the  bank,  where  they  form  an  irregular  w?.ll  of  glass,  glittering 
and  melting  leisureSy  in[  the  heat  of  the  sun. 

A  stranger  who  had  not  tritnessed  their  upheaval,  might  well 
wonder  by  what  gigantic  power  they  had  been  placed  there. 

In  March,  1844,  a  severe  winter  was  terminated  by  a  very 
sudden  thaw,  accompanied  by  high  winds  and  deluges  of  rain. 
In  a  few  days  the  snow  was  all  gone,  and  every  slope  and  hill 
was  converted  into  a  drain,  down  which  the  long-imprisoned 
waters  rushed  continuously  to  the  river.  The  roads  were  almost 
impassable,  and,  on  the  12th  of  the  month,  the  river  rose  to  an 
onnsual  height,  and  (completely  filled  its  roc^  banks.  The  floods 
brought  da#ii  ft-om  the  interior  a  great  Jam  of  ice,  which,  accu- 
mulating in  size  and  altitude  at  every  bridge  and  dam  it  had 
carried  away  in  its  course  towards  the  bay,  was  at  length  arrested 
in  its  progr«»  at  tho  lower  bridge,  where  the  ice,  though  sunk 
several  feet  below  the  rushuig  waters,  still  adhered  firmly  to  the 


■■^-.. 


UFK   IN   VHB    OLBARINUB. 


m 


shore.  Vast  pieces  of  ioe  were  piled  up  against  the  abutments 
of  the  bridge,  which  the  monntaia  of  ioe  threatened  to  annihi- 
late, as  well  as  to  innndate  the  lower  end  of  the  town. 

It  presented  to  the  eager  and  excited  crowd,  who  in  spite  of 
the  impending  danger  rushed  to  the  devoted  bridge,  a  curious 
and  formidable  spectacle.  Ima^ne,  dear  reader,  a  huge  mass, 
composed  of  blocks  of  ice,  large  stones,  and  diift  timber,  occupy- 
ing the  centre  of  the  river,  and  extending  back  for  a  great  dis- 
tance; the  top  on  a  level  with  the  roo&  of  the  houses.  The 
inhabitants  of  the  town  had  everything  to  dread  from  such  a 
gigantic  battering-ram  applied  to  their  feeble  wooden  bridge. 

A  consultation  was  held  by  the  men  assembled  on  the  bridge, 
and  it  was  thought  that  the  danger  might  be  averted  by  sawing 
asunder  the  ice,  which  stiU  held  firm,  and  allowing  a  free  pas- 
sage for  the  blocks  that  impeded  the  bridge. 

The  river  was  soon  covered  with  active  men,  armed  with  axes 
and  poles,  some  freeing  the  ice  at  the  arch  of  the  bridge,  others 
attempting  to  push  the  iceberg  nearer  to  the  shore,  where  if  once 
stranded,  it  would  melt  at  leisure.  If  the  huge  jale  of  mischief 
could  have  found  a  voice,  it  would  have  laughed  at  their  fruitless 
endeavours. 

While  watching  the  men  at  their  dangerous,  and,  as  it  proved 
afterwards,  hopeless  work,  we  witnessed  an  act  of  extraordinary 
courage  and  presence  of  mind  in  two  brothers,  bla(A»miths  in 
the  town.  One  of  these  ywing  men  was  busy  catting  away  the 
ice  just  above  the  bridge,  when  quite  unexpectedly  the  piece  on 
which  he  was  standing  gave  way,  and  he  was  carried  with  the 
speed  of  thought  under  the  bridge.  His  death  appeared  inevita- 
ble. But  quick  as  his  exit  was  from  the  exciting  scene,  the  love 
in  the  brother*s  heart  was  as  quick  in  tiding  measures  for  his 
safety.  As  the  ice  on  which  the  younger  lad  stood  parted,  the 
elder  sprang  into  the  hollow  box  of  wood  which  helped  to  sup- 
port the  arch  of  the  bridge,  and  which  was  filled  with  great 
stones.  As  the  torrent  swept  his  brother  past  him  and  under 
the  bridge,  the  drowning  youth  gave  a  spring  from  the  ice  on 
which  he  still  stood,  and  the  other  bending  at  the  instant  from 
his  perch  above,  caught  him  by  the  collar,  and  lifted  him  bodily 
from  his  perilous  situation.    AH  was  the  work  of  a  monMnt; 


36 


LirS    IN    niK    CLKARiyOS. 


yet  the  ipeotators  }ield  their  breath,  and  wondered  as  they  saw. 
It  WM  an  act  of  bold  daring  on  the  one  hand,  of  cool  determined 
courage  on  the  other.  It  was  a  Joyfal  sight  to  see  the  rescued 
lad  in  his  brave  brother's  arms. 

All  day  we  watched  from  the  bridge  the  hill  of  ice,  wondering 
when  it  would  take  a  fresh  start,  and  if  i^^  wonld  carry  aWay  the 
bridge  when  it  left  its  present  position.  Night  came  down.  And 
tlie  unwelcome  visitant  remained  stationary.  The  air  was  cold 
and  firosfy.  There  was  no  moon,  and  the  spectators  were  reluc- 
tantly forced  to  retire  to  their  respective  homes.  Between  the 
watches  of  tbe.  night  we  listened  to  the  roaring  of  the  river,  and 
specnlated  upon  the  threatened  destraotion.  By  daybreak  my 
eager  boys  were  upon  the  spot,  to  ascertain  the  fate  of  tho 
bridge.  AU  was  grim  and  silent  The  ice  remained  like  a  giant 
slumbering  upon  his  post. 

So  passed  the  greater  part  of  the  day.  Ouriosity  was  worn 
out.  The  orowd  began  to  disperse,  disappointed  that  the  ruin 
they  had  anticipated  had  not  taken  place ;  just  as  some  persons 
ore  sorry  when  a  fire,  which  has  caused  much  alarm  by  its  cen- 
tral position  in  a  town  or  city,  is  extinguished,  without  burning 
down  a  single  house.  The  love  of  excitement  drowns  for  a  time 
the  better  feelings  of  humanity.  Th^  don't  wish  any  person  to 
sufier  ii^ory;  but  they  give  up  the  grand  spectacle  th^y  had 
expected  to  witness  with  regret. 

At  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  most  of  the  wonder-watchers 
had  retired,  disgusted  with  the  tardy  movements  of  the  ice  mon- 
ster, when  a  cry  arose  from  the  banks  of  the  river,  to  warn  the 
few  persons  who  still  loitered  on  the  bridge,  to  look  out.  The 
ice  was  in  motion.  Every  one  within  hearing  rushed  to  the 
river.  We  happened  to  be  passing  at  the  time,  and,  like 
the  rest,  hurried  to  the  gpot.  The  vast  pile,  slowly,  almost 
imperceptibly,  began  to  advance,  giving  on  irresistible  impulse 
to  the  shore  ice^  that  still  held  good,  and  which  was  instantly 
oommunioated  to  the  large  pieces  that  blocked  the  arch  of  the 
bridge,  over  which  the  waves  now  poured  in  a  torrent,  pushing  be-* 
fore  them  the  great  lumps  which  up  to  thij  present  moment  had 
been  immovably  wedged.  There  was  a  hollow,  gurgling  sound,  a 
sullen  roar  of  waters,  a  cracking  and  rending  of  the  shore-bound 


V. 


Lira   IN   THB   0LBARINO8. 


foe,  and  tlie  ponderous  maw  smote  the  bridge;  it  parted  asonder, 
and  HwUX  aa  an  arrow  the  crystal  mountaia  glided  downwards  to 
the  bay,  spurning  fh>m  its  base  the  waves  that  leaped  and 
foainod  Hround  its  path,  and  pouring  them  in  a  flood  of  waters 
over  the  west  bank  of  the  river. 

BeyuQd  the  loss  of  a  few  old  sheds  akHig  the  shore,  very  little 
damage  was  sustained  by  the  town.  The  streets  near  the  wharves 
were  inundated  for  a  few^  hoars,  and  the  cellars  filled  with  wa- 
ter ;  but  after  the  exit  of  the  iceberg,  the  river  soon  subsided 
into  its  usual  channel. 

The  winter  of  1852  was  one  of  great  length  and  severity.  The 
snow  in  many  of  the  roads  was  level  with  the  top  rail  of  the 
fences,  and  the  spring  thaw  caused  heavy  freshets  tlirough  tho 
colony.  In  the  upper  part  of  the  province,  particularly  on  the 
grand  river,  the  rising  of  the  waters  decoyed  a  large  amount 
of  valuable  mill  property.  One  mill-owner  lost  12,000  saw  logs. 
Our  wild,  bright  Hoira  was  swollen  to  the  brim,  and  tumbled 
along  with  the  impetuosity  of  a  mountain  torrent.  Its  course 
to  the  bay  was  unimpeded  by  ice,  which  had  been  all  carried  out 
a  few  days  before  by  a  high  wind ;  bat  vast  quantities  of  saw 
logs  that  had  broken  away  firom  their  bosoms  in  the  interior 
were  plunging  in  the  current,  sometimes  starting  bolt  upright, 
or  turning  over  and  over,  as  if  endued  with  the  spirit  of  life,  as 
well  as  with  that  of  motion. 

Several  of  these  heavy  timbers  had  struck  the  upper  bridge, 
and  carried  away  the  centre  arch.  A  pow  cow,  who  was  lei- 
surely pacing  over  to  her  shed  and  supper,  was  suddenly  preci- 
pitated into  the  din  of  waters.  Had  it  been  the  mayor  of  the 
town,  the  accident  could  scarcely  have  produced  a  greater  excite- 
ment. The  cow  belonged  to  a  poor  Irishman,  and  the  sympathy 
of  every  one  was  enlisted  in  her  fate.  Was  it  possible  that  she 
could  escape  drowning  amid  such  a  mad  roar  of  waves  ?  No 
human  arm  ooold  stem  for  a  moment  such  a  current ;  but  fortu- 
nately for  our  heroine,  she  was  not  human,  but  only  a  stupid 
quadruped. 

The  cow  for  a  few  seconds  seemed  bewildei*ed  at  the  strange 
sifoation  in  which  she  found  herself  so  unexpectedly  placed.'^' 
But  she  was  wise  enough  and  skilful  enough  to  keep  her  head 


'  ^^Bp 


LIFS    IN   THB   CLEARINGS. 


^  above  water,  and  she  cleared  two  mill-dams  before  she  became 
aware  of  the  fact ;  and  she  accommodated  hirself  to  her  critical 
fiitaation  with  a  stoical  indifference  which  would  have  done  cre- 
dit to  an  ancient  philosopher.  After  passing  unliurt  over  the 
dams,  the  spectators  who  crowded  the  lower  bridges  to  watch 
'■'  the  result,  began  to  entertain  hopes  for  her  life. 

The  bridges  are  in  a  direct  line,  and  about  half  a  mile  apart. 

On  came  the  cow,  making  directly  for  the  centre  arch  of  the 

bridge  on  which  we  stood.    She  certainly  neither  swam,  nor  felt 

lier  feet,  but  was  borne  along  by  the  force  of  the  stream.       .5^*^. 

"  My  eyes  I    I  wish  I  could  swim  as  well  as  that  ere  cow," 

,  cried  an  excited  boy,  leaping  upon  the  top  of  the  bridge. 

*^I  guess  you  do,"  said  mother.  '^But  that's  a  game  cow. 
There  is  no  boy  in  the  town  could  beat  her." 

"  She  will  never  pass  the  arch  of  the  bridge,"  said  a  man,  sul- 
lenly ;  "  she  will  be  killed  against  the  abutment." 

''Jolly!  she's  through  the  arch!"  shouted  the  first  speaker. 
"  Pat  has  saved  his  cowl"  ,im^^^  ^^,,*  j,.  ^  ^5,^^-.  .^ 

"  She's  not  ashore  yet,"  returned  the  man.  "  And  she  begins 
to  flag." 

"Not  a  bit  of  it,"  cried  the  excited  boy.  "The  old  daisy- 
cropper  looks  as  fresh  as  a  ro^e.  Hurrah,  boys  I  let  us  run  down 
to  tha  wharf,  and  see  what  becomes  of  her."  ,*., 

Off  scampered  the  juveniles ;  and  on  floated  the  cow,  calm 
and  self-pQssessed  in  the  midst  of  danger.    After  passing  safely 
through  the  arch  of  the  bridge,  she  continued  to  steer  herself  out 
of  the  current,  and  nearer  to  the  shore,  and  finally  effected  a 
landing  in  Front-street,  where  she  quietly  walked  on  shoie,  to 
the  great  admiration  of  the  youngsters,  who  received  her  with 
V  rapturous  shouts  of  applause.    One  lad  seized  her  by  the  tail, 
another  grasped  her  horns^  while  a  third  patted  her  dripping 
.  neck,  and  wished  her  joy  of  her  safe  landing.    Not  Venus  her- 
->  self^  when  she  rose  from  the  sea,  attracted  more  enthusiastic  ad- 
""■-  mirers  than  did  the  poor  Irishman's  cow.    A  party,  composed 
of  all  the  boys  in  the  place,  led  her  in  triumph  through  thp 
streets,  and  restored  her  to  lier  rightful  owner,  not  forgetting 
^to  bestow  upon  her  three  hearty  cheers  at  parting.  -,4^. 

A  little  black  boy,  the  only  son  of  a  worthy  negro,  who  had 


•♦■!^_: 


« 


LirS   IN    THE   CLEARIKOS.  ^,  ,      ,     '  8^ 

been  a  settler  for  many  years  in  Belleville,  was  not  so  fortunate 
us  the  Irishman's  cow.  He  was  pushed,  it  is  said  accidentally, 
from  the  broken  bridge,  by  a  white  boy  of  his  own  age,  into  that 
hell  of  waters,  and  it  was  many  weeks  before  his  body  was 
found ;  it  had  been  carried  some  miles  down  the  bay  by  the  force 
of  the  current.  Day  after  day  you  might  see  his  unhappy  father, 
armed  with  a  long  pole,  with  a  hook  attached  to  it,  mournfully 
pacing  the  banks  of  the  swollen  river,  in  tlie  hope  of  recovering 
the  remains  of  his  lost  child.  Once  or  tAvice  we  stopped  to  speak 
to  him,  but  his  heart  was  too  full  to  answer.  He  would  turn 
away,  with  the  tears  rolling  down  his  sable  oheeks,  and  resume 
hi§  melancholy  task.  '•>* 

What  a  dreadfal  thing  is  this  prejudice  against  race  and 
colour  I  How  it  hardens  tha  heart,  and  locks  up  all  the  avenues 
of  pity !  The  premature  death  of  this  little  negro  excited  less 
interest  in  the  breasts  of  his  white  companions  than  the  fate  of 
the  cow,  and  was  spoken  of  with  as  little  concern  as  the  drown- 
ing of  a  pup  or  a  kitten. 

Alas  I  this  river  Moira  has  caused  more  tears  to  ftow  from  the 
eyes  of  heart-broken  parents  than  any  stream  of  the  like  size  in 
the  province.  Heedless  of  danger,  the  children  will  resort  to  its 
shores,  and  play  upon  the  timbers  that  during  the  summer 
months  cover  its  surface.  Often  have  I  seen  a  fine  child  of  five 
of  six  years  old,  astride  of  a  saw-log,  riding  down  the  current, 
with  as  much  glee  as  if  it  were  a  real  steed  he  bestrode.  If  the 
log  turns,  which  is  often  the  case,  the  child  stands  a  great  chance 
of  being  drowned. 

Oh,  agony  unspeakable!  The  writer  of  this  lost  a  fine  talented 
boy  of  six  years — one  to  whom  her  soul  clave — in  those  cruel 
waters.  But  I  will  not  dwell  upon  that  dark  hour,  the  saddest 
and  darkest  in  my  sad,  eventfbl  life.  Many  years  ago,  when  I  was 
a  girl  myself,  my  sympathies  were  deeply  excited  by  reading  an 
account  of  the  grief  of  a  mother  who  had  lost  her  only  child, 
under  similar  circumstances.  How  prophetio  were  those  lines 
of  all  that  I  suffered  during  that  heavy  bereavement ! — 


'  ■'^-■■"-■S'l!^-*-.^''' 


A     '-^'i-^r' 


<e 


LIFB   IN   THS   CLEARINGS. 


\        f*: 


■■<(>..• 


THE  MOTHER'S  LAMENT. 

"  Oh,  cold  at  my  feet  thou  wert  sleeping,  my  boy, 

And  I  press  on  thy  pale  lips  in  vain  the  fond  kiss ! 
Earth  opens  her  arms  to  receive  thee,  my  joy, 

And  all  my  past  sorrows  were  nothing  to  this. 
The  day-star  of  hope  'neath  thine  eye-lid  is  sleeping, 
No  more  to  arise  at  the  voice  of  my  weeping. 

"  Oh,  how  art  thou  changed,  since  the  light  breath  of  morning 
Dispersed  the  soft  dew-drops  in  showers  from  the  tree ! 
Like  a  beautiful  bud  my  lone  dwelling  adorning, 
Thy  smiles  call'd  up  feelings  of  rapture  in  me  : 
I  thought  not  the  sunbeams  all  gaily  that  shone 
On  thy  waking,  at  night  would  behold  me  alone. 

"  The  joy  tiiat  flashed  out  from  thy  death-shrouded  eyes, 
That  laugh'd  in  thy  dimples,  and  brighten'd  thy  cheek. 
Is  quenoh'd-^but  the  smile  on  thy  pale  lip  that  lies, 

Now  tells  of  a  joy  that  no  language  can  speak. 
The  foimtain  is  seal'd,  the  young  spirit  at  rest — 
Oh,  Turhy  should  I  mourn  thee,  my  lov'd  one— my  blest?" 


The  anniversary  of  that  fatal  day  gave  birUi  to  the  following 
lines,  with  which  I  will  close  this  long  chapter : — 


THE  EARLY  LOST. 

"  Thd  shade  of  death  upon  my  threshold  lay. 
The  sun  from  thy  life's  dial  had  departed ; 
A  cloud  came  down  upon  thy  early  day, 

And  left  thy  hapless  mother  broken-hearted-—   " 

My  boy — my  boy ! 

"  Long  weary  months  have  pas^'d  since  that  sad  dayj 
But  naught  beguiles  my  bosom  of  its  sorrow  : 
Since  the  cold  waters  took  thee  for  their  prey. 
No  smiling  hope  looks  forward  to  the  morrow — 


\r,.  1 


Vu^>'  I 


iM.y  Mujf — ^my  Doy  ; 


LIFE   IN   THE    CLBARINQS.  41 

"  The  voice  of  mirth  is  silenced  in  my  heart, 

Thou  vrert  so  dearly  loved— s<»  fondly  cheriah'd; 
I  cannot  yet  believe  that  vre  raiutt  part- 
That  all,  save  thine  immortal  sonl,  has  peribh'd— 

My  boy — ^my  boy  I 

"My  lovely,  laughing,  rosy,  dimpled,  child, 

I  call  upon  thee,  when  the  sun  shines  clearest ; 
In  the  dark  lonely  night,  in  accents  wild, 
I  breathe  thy  treasured  name,  my  best  and  dearest—- 

My  boy — ^my  boy ! 

"  The  hand  of  God  has  presa'd  me  very  sore— 
Oh,  could  I  clasp  thee  once  more  as  of  yore. 

And  kiss  thy  glowing  cheeks'  soft  velvet  bloom, 
I  would  resign  thee  to  the  Almighty  Giver 
Without  one  tear — ^would  yield  thee  up  for  ever, 

And  people  with  bright  forms  iJiy  silent  tomb. 
But  hope  has  faded  from  my  heart — and  joy 
Lies  buried  in  thy  grave,  my  darling  boy  1" 


/' 


CHAPTER  II. 

"  Prophet  spirit  I  rise  and  say, 

Wliat  In  Fancy's  glass  you  see — 
A  city  crovn  this  lonely  bay?" 

No  dream — a  bright  reality. 
Ere  half  a  century  has  roll'd 

Its  waves  of  light  away, 
The  beauteous  vision  I  behold 

Shall  greet  the  rosy  day ; 
And  Belleville  view  with  civic  pride 

Her  greatness  mirror'd  in  the  tide." 


S.  M. 


The  town  of  Belleville,  in  1840,  contained  a  population  of 
1,500  soqIs,  or  thereabouts.  The  few  streets  it  then  possessed 
w*i'e  chiefly  composed  of  frame  houses,  put  up  in  the  most  un- 
artistio  and  irregdar  fashion,  their  gable  ends  or  fronts  turned  to 


48 


UFS   IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


the  street,  as  it  suited  the  whim  or  convenience  of  the  owner, 
without  the  least  regard  to  taste  or  neatness.  At  that  period 
there  were  only  two  stone  houses  and  two  of  hrick  in  the  place, 
Onp  of  these  wonders  of  the  village  was  the  court-house  and 
gaol ;  the  other  three  were  stores.  The  dwellings  of  the  wealth- 
ier portion  of  the  community  were  distinguished  hy  a  coat  of 
white  or  yellow  paint,  with  green  or  brown  doors  and  window 
blinds;  while  the  houses  of  the  poorer  class  retained  the  dull 
grey,  which  the  plain  boards  always  assume  after  a  short  expo- 
sure to  the  weather. 

In  spite  of  the  great  beauty  of  the  locality,  it  was  but  an  in- 
significant, dirty-looking  place.  The  main  street  of  the  town 
(Front-street,  as  it  is  called)  was  only  partially  paved  with  rough 
slabs  of  linlestone,  and  these  were  put  so  carelessly  down  that 
their  uneven  edges,  and  the  difference  in  their  height  and  size, 
was  painful  to  the  pedestrian,  and  destruction  to  his  shoes, 
leading  you  to  suppose  that  the  paving  committee  had  been  com- 
posed of  shoemakers.  In  spring  and  fall  the  mud  was  so  deep  in 
the  centre  of  the  thoroughfare  that  it  required  you  to  look  twice 
before  you  commenced  the  difficult  task  of  crossing,  lest  you 
might  chance  to  leave  your  shoes  sticking  fast  in  the  mud.  This 
I  actually  saw  a  lady  do  one  Sunday  while  crossing  the  church 
hill.  Belleville  had  just  been  incorporated  as  the  metropoUtan 
town  of  the  Victoria  District,  and  my  husband  presided  as  Sheriff 
in  the  first  court  ever  held  in  the  place. 

Twelve  brief  years  have  made  a  wonderful,  and  almost  mira- 
culous change  in  the  aspect  and  circumstances  of  the  town.  A 
stranger,  who  had  not  visited  it  during  that  period,  could  scarcely 
recognize  it  as  the  same.  It  has  more  than  doubled  its  dimen- 
sions, and  its  population  has  increased  to  upwards  of  4,600  souls. 
Handsome  commodious  stores,  filled  with  expensive  goods  from 
the  mother  country  and  the  States,  have  risen  in  the  place  of  the 
small  dark  frame  buildings ;  and  large  hotels  have  jostled  into 
obscurity  the  low  taverns  and  groceries  that  once  formed  the 
only  places  of  entertainment.  r'. 

In  1840,  a  wooded  swamp  extended  almost  the  whole  way 


road  was  execrable ;  and  only  a  few  log  shanties,  or  very  small 


UFB   IN   THB   QLEARINGS. 


'Hi'' 


frame  houses,  occurred  at  intervals  alung  the  road-side.  Now, 
OarifTs  Mills  is  as  large  as  Belleville  was  in  1840,  and  boasts  of  a 
population  of  upwards  of  1000  inhabitants.  A  fine  plank  road 
connects  it  with  the  latter  place,  and  the  whole  distance  is  one 
continuous  street.  Many  of  the  houses  by  the  wayside  are  pretty 
ornamental  cottages,  composed  of  brick  or  stone.  An  immense 
traffic  in  flour  and  lumber  is  carried  on  at  this  place,  and  the 
plank  road  has  proved  a  very  lucrative  speculation  to  the  share- 
holders. 

In  1840,  there  was  but  one  bank  agency  in  Belleville,  now 
there  are  four,  three  of  which  do  a  great  business.  At  that 
period  we  had  no  market,  although  Saturday  was  generally 
looked  upon  as  the  market-day ;  the  formers  choosing  it  as  the 
most  convenient  to  bring  to  town  their  farm  produce  for  sale. 
Our  first  market-house  was  erected  in  1849 ;  it  was  built  of  wood, 
and  very  roughly  finished.  This  proved  but  poor  economy  in  tlie 
lung  run,  as  it  was  burnt  down  the  succeeding  yoar.  A  new  and 
more  commodious  one  of  brick  has  been  erected  in  its  place,  and 
it  is  tolerably  supplied  with  meat  and  vegetables;  but  these 
articles  are  both  dearer  and  inferior  in  quality  to  those  offered 
in  Kingston  and  Toronto.  This,  perhaps,  is  owing  to  the  tardi- 
ness shown  by  the  farmers  in  bringing  in  their  produce,  which 
they  are  obliged  to  oifer  first  for  sale  in  the  market,  or  be  sub- 
jected to  a  trifling  fine.  There  is  very  little  competition,  and 
the  butchers  and  town  grocery-keepers  have  it  their  own  way. 
A  market  is  always  a  stirring  scene.  Here  politics,  commercial 
speculations,  and  the  little  floating  gossip  of  the  village,  are  freely 
talked  over  and  discussed.  To  those  who  feel  an  interest  in  the 
scudy  of  human  nature,  the  market  affords  an  ample  field. 
Imagine  a  conversation  like  the  following,  between  two  decently 
dressed  mechanics' wives :  .  ,    . 

"  How  are  you,  Mrs.  G ?" 

"  Moderate,  I  thank  you.  Did  you  hear  how  old  P— —  was 
to-day?"  -w^f^ii^-^'^^^i 

"  Mortal  bad."  .  ^'-^'i^fW^^  %y  ?a^a^igi«r 

"  Why !  you  don't  say.    Our  folks  heard  that  he  was  getting 


/villi' A    arvtAM-^ 


iff'  *i«Pi?t  j-;»-j  ififiy^i/it  *»/-  -Sfw^nr-  "mfm**» 


."The  doctor  has  giver,  him  up  entirely." 


'»*<'•.■ 


^ 


.?»•.* 


,.#r- 


V^A 


44 


LIT!  IN  THE   0LBARIN08. 


"Well,  it  will  be  a  bad  job  for  the  family  if  he  goes.  Tve  heVd 
that  there  won't  be  money  enough  to  pay  his  d^ts.  Bat  what 
of  this  marriage  ?  They  do  eay  that  Miss  A——  is  to  be  married 
to  old  Mister  B ." 

"What  are  her  friends  thiDking  about  to  let  that  young  gal 
marry  that  old  bald-headed  man  f' 

"  The  money  to  be  sure— they  say  he's  rich." 

*'  If  he's  rich,  he  never  made  his  money  honestly ." 

"  Ah,  he  oame  of  a  bad  set," — ^with  a  shake  of  the  head. 

And  so  they  go  on,  talking  and  chatting  over  the  affairs  of  the 
neighbourhood  in  succession.  It  is  curious  to  watch  the  traits 
of  character  exhibited  in  buyer  and  seller.  Both  exceed  the 
bounds  of  trath  and  honesty.  The  one,  in  his  eagemeifis  to  sell 
his  goods,  bestowing  upon  them  the  most  unqualified  praise ;  the 
other  depredating  them  below  their  real  value,  in  <»rder  to  obtain 
them  at  an  unreasonably  low  price. 

"  Fine  beef,  ma'am,"  exdaims  an  anxious  butcher,  watching, 
with  the  eye  of  a  hawk,  a  respectable  citizen's  wife,  as  she  paces 
slowly  and  irresolutely  in  fi'ont  of  his  stall,  whero  he  has  hung 
out  for  sale  the  side  of  an  ox,  neither  the  youngest  nor  fattest. 
"Fine  grass-fed  beef,  ma'am — ^none  better  to  be  had  in  the 
district.  What  shall  I  send  you  home — sirloin,  ribs,  a  tender 
steak?" 

"It  would  be  a  difficult  matter  to  do  that,"  responds  the  good 
wife,  with  some  asperity  in  look  and  tone.  "  It  seems  hard  and 
old ;  some  lean  cow  you  have  killed,  co  save  her  fi>om  dying  of 
the  consumption." 

"  No  danger  of  the  fat  setting  fire  to  the  Inm" — su^^ts  a  rtval 
in  the  trade.    "  Sucre's  a  fine  veal,  ma'am,  fatted  upon  the  milk  . 
of  two  cows."  ^ 

"Looks,"  says  the  comely  dame,  passing  on  to  the  next  stall, 
"  as  if  it  had  been  starved  upon  the  milk  c^  one." 

Talking  of  markets  puts  me  in  mind  of  a  trick — a  wicked 
trick — h^K  perhaps,  not  the  less  amusing  on  that  account,  that 
was  played  off  in  Toronto  market  last  year  by  a  young  medical 
student,  name  unknown.  It  was  the  Ohristmas  week,  anil  the 
market  was  adorned  with  evergreens,  and  dressed  with  all  possible 
oare.    The  stalls  groaned  beneath  the  weight  of  good  cheer — ^fish, 


^. 


.■\" 


LIFB   IN   THE   0LEAKIMQ8. 


4» 


v» 


J 


flesh,  and  fowl,  all  contributing  their  share  to  tempt  the  appetite 
and  abstract  money  from  the  purse.  It  was  a  sight  to  warm  the 
heart  of  the  most  fastidious  epicure,  and  give  him  the  nightmare 
for  the  next  seven  nights,  only  dreaming  of  that  stupendous 
quantity  of  food  to  be  masticated  by  the  Jaws  of  man.  One 
butcher  had  the  supreme  felicity  of  possessing  a  fine  tht  heifer, 
that  had  taken  the  prize  at  the  provincial  agricultural  show ;  and 
the  monster  of  fat,  which  was  justly  considered  the  pride  of  the 
market,  was  hung  up  in  the  most  conspicuous  place  in  order  to 
attract  the  gaze  of  all  beholders. 

Dr.  0  , ;.  vrealthy  doctor  of  laws,  was  providing  good  cheer 
for  the  entertainment  of  a  few  choice  friends  on  Ghristmas-day, 
and  ordered  of  the  butcher  four  ribs  of  the  terapting*Iooking  beef. 
The  man,  unwilling  to  cut  up  the  animal  until  she  had  ei^oyed 
her  f^ill  share  of  admiration,  wrote  upon  a  piece  of  paper,  in  large 
characters,  "Prize  Heifer — ^four  ribs  fbr  Dr.  0——;"  this  he 
pinned  upon  the  carcase  of  the  beast.  Shortly  after  the  doctor 
quitted  the  market,  and  a  very  fat  young  lady  and  her  mother 
came  up  to  the  stall  to  make  some  purchases ;  our  student  was 
leaning  carelessly  against  it,  watching  with  bright  eyes  the  busy 
scene ;  and  being  an  uncommonly  mischievous  fellow,  and  very 
fond  of  practical  jokes,  a  thought  suddenly  struck  him  of  playing 
oflf  one  upon  the  stout  young  lady.  Her  back  was  towards  him, 
and  dexterously  abstracting  the  aforementioned  placard  from  the 
side  of  the  hdfer,  he  transferred  it  to  the  shawl  of  his  unsuspect- 
ing victim,  just  where  its  ample  folds  comfortably  encased  her 
broad  shoulders. 

After  a  while  the  ladies  left  the  market,  amidst  the  suppressed 
titters  and  outstretched  fore-fingers  of  butchers  and  hucksters, 
and  all  the  idle  loafers  that  generally  congregate  in  such  places  of 
public  resort.  All  up  the  length  of  King-street  walked  the  inno- 
cant  damsel,  marvelling  that  the  public  attention  appeared  ex- 
clusively betowed  upon  her.  Still,  as  she  passed  along,  bursts  of 
laughter  resounded  on  all  sides,  and  the  oft-repeated  words, 

"Prize  Heifer — ^four  ribs  for  Dr.  0 ;"  it  was  not  until  she 

reached  her  own  dwelling  that  she  became  aware  of  the  trick. 

The  kmd  to  the  east,  north  and  west  of  BelleTllle,  rises  to  a 


u 


UFJB   IN   THB   OLEARINOB. 


considerable  height,  and  some  of  the  back  townships,  like 
Huntingdon  and  Hungerford,  abound  iu  lofiy  hills.  There  is  in 
the  former  tow^oiship,  on  the  road  leading  from  Bawdon  village 
to  Luke^s  tavern,  a  most  extraordinary  natural  phenomenon. 
The  road  for  severxU  miles  runs  along  tbe  top  of  a  sharp  ridge, 
so  narrow  that  it  leaves  barely  breadth  enough  for  two  wagons 
to  pass  in  sa&ty.  This  ridge  is  composed  of  ^avel,  and  looks  as 
if  it  had  been  sulgcoted  to  the  action  of  water.  On  eitber  side 
of  this  huge  embankment  there  is  a  sheer  descent  into  a  finely 
wooded  level  plain  below,  through  which  wanders  a  lonely  croek, 
or  small  stream.  I  don't  know  what  the  height  of  this  ridge  is 
nbovQ^the  level  of  the  meadow,  but  it  must  be  very  considerable, 
OS  you  look  down  upon  the  tops  of  the  loftiest  forest  trees  as  they 
grow  far,  far  beneath  you.  The  road  is  well  fenced  on  either 
side,  or  it  would  require  some  courage  to  drive  young  skittish 
horses  abng  this  dangerous  pass.  The  settlers  in  that  vicinity 
have  given  to  this  nngular  rise  the  name  of  the  'Vliidge  road." 
There  is  a  sharp  ridge  of  limestone  at  the  back  of  the  towaelTip 
of  Thurlow,  though  of  ffx  less  dimensions,  which  looks  as  if  it 
had  been  thrown  up  in  some  convulsion  of  the  earth,  as  the 
limestone  is  shattered  in  all  directions.  The  same  thing  occurs 
on  the  xoad  to  ^annonville,  a  small  but  fiouriahing  village  on  the 
Kingston  road,  nine  miles  east  of  Belleville.  The  rock  is  heaved 
up  in  the  middle,  and  divided  by  deep  cracks  into  innumerable 
fragments.  I  put  a  long  stick  down  one  of  these  deep  cracks 
without  reaohLQg~  the  bottom;  and  as  1  gathered  a  lovely  bunch 
of  harebells,  that  were  waving  their  graceful  blossoms  over  tho 
barren  rock,  I  thought  what  an  excellent  breeding  place  for 
snakes  these  deep  fissures  must  make.  '  >f 

But  to  return  to  BeUeville.  The  west  side  of  the  river — ^a  flat 
limestone  plain,  scantily  covered  with  a  second  growth  of  dwarf 
trees  and  bushes — ^has  not  as  yet  been  occupied,  although  a  flour- 
ishing village  that  has  sprung  up  within  a  few  years  crowns  the 
ridge  above.  The  plain  below  is  private  propwty,  ^nd  being  very 
valuable,  as  affording  excellent  sites  for  flour  and  saw  mills,  has 
been  reserved  in  order  to  obtain  a  higher  {Mrice.  This  circttmstance 
has  doubtless  been  a  drawback  to  the  growth  of  the  town  in 


UFB  IN   THE   0LEARIN9S. 


4% 


?t,   ^, 


that  direction ;  while  shutting  oat  the  view  of  the  river  by  the 
erection  of  large  buildings,  will  greatly  diminish  the  natural 
beauties  of  this  piot*^    ^ijue  spot. 

The  approach  to  BeUeviUe,  both  from  the  east  and  west,  is 
down  a  very  steep  hill,  the  town  lying  principally  in  the  valley 
below.  These  hills  command  a  beautiful  prospect  of  wood  and 
water,  and  of 'a  rich,  well-cleared,  and  highly  cultivated  country. 
Their  sides  are  adorned  with  fino  trees,  which  have  grown  up 
since  the  axe  first  levelled  the  primeval  forests  in  this  part  of  the 
colony ;  a  circumstance  which,  being  unusual  in  Ganada  round 
new  settlements,  forms  a  most  attractive  feature  in  the  land- 
scape. , 

A  more  delightful  summer's  evening  ride  could  scarcely  be 
pointed  out  than  along  the  Trent,  or  Kingston  roads,  imd  it  would 
be  a  di£Glcult  thing  to  deteimine  which  afforded  the  most  varied 
and  phasing  prospect.  Besiding  upon  the  west  hill,  we  naturally 
prefer  it  to  the  other,  but  I  have  some  doubts  whether  it  is 
really  the  prettiest.  I  have  often  imagined  a  hundred  years 
to  have  passed  away,  and  the  lovely  sloping  banks  of  the  Bay  of 
Quinte,  crowned  with  rural  villages  and  stately  parks  and  houses, 
stretcning  down  to  these  fiftir  waters.  What,  a  scene  of  fertility 
and  beauty  rises  before  my  mental  vi^on  I  Ify  heart  swells,  and 
I  feel  proud  that  I  belong  to  a  race  who,  in  every  portion  of  tiie 
globe  in  which  they  have  planted  a  colony,  have  proved  them- 
selves worthy  to  be  the  sires  of  a  great  nation. 

The  state  of  society  when  we  first  came  to  this  district,  was 
everything  but  friendly  or  agreeable.  The  ferment  occasioned 
by  the  impotent  rebellion  of  W.  L.  Mackenzie  had  hai'dly  sub- 
sided. The  public  mind  wa.'^  in  a  sore  and  escited  ^ate.  Men 
looked  distrustfully  upon-  each  other,  and  the  demon  of  party 
reigned  pre-eminent,  as  much  in  the  drawing-room  as  in  the 
council-chamber. 

The  town  was  divided  into  two  fierce  political  factions ;  and 
however  moderate  your  views  might  be,  to  belong  to  the  one 
was  to  incur  the  dislike  and  ill-will  of  the  other.  The  Tory 
party,  who  arrogated  the  whole  loyalty  of  the  colony  to  them- 
selves, branded,  indiscriminately,  the  large  body  of  Reformers  as 
traitorB  and  rebels.   Every  conscientious  and  thinking  man,  who 


«e 


UFB   IN   THE   CLBARINOS. 


wished  to  see  8  change  for  the  better  in  the  management  of 
public  affairs,  was  confonnded  with  those  discontented  spirits, 
whc  had  raised  the  standard  of  revolt  against  the  mother  conn* 
try.  In  justice  even  to  them,  it  must  be  said,  not  without  severe 
provocation ;  and.  their  disaffection  was  more  towards  the  colo- 
nial government,  and  the  abuses  it  fostered,  than  any  particular 
dislike  to  British  supremacy  or  institutions.  Their  attempt, 
whether  instigated  by  patriotism  or  selfishness — and  probably  it 
contained  a  mixture  of  both — had  failed,  and  it  was  but  just 
that  they  should  feel  the  punishment  due  to  their  crime.  But 
the  odious  term  of  rebel,  applied  to  some  of  the  most  loyal  and 
honoHrable  men  in  the  province,  because  they  could  not  give  up 
their  honest  views  on  the  state  of  the  colony,  gave  rise  to  bitter 
and  resentful  feelings,  which  were  ready,  on  all  public  occasions, 
to  burst  mto  a  flame.  Even  women  entered  deeply  into  this 
party  hostility ;  and  those  who,  ftom  their  education  and  men- 
tal advantages,  might  have  been  friends  and  agreeable  com- 
panions, kept  aloof,  rarely  tiding  notice  of  each  other,  when  i 
accidently  thrown  together. 

The  native-bom  Canadian  regarded  with  a  jealous  feeling  men 
of  talent  and  respectability  who  emigrated  from  the  mother 
country,  as  most  offices  of  consequence  and  emolument  were 
^iven  to  such  persons.    The  Canadian,  naturally  enough,  consid- 
ered such  preference  ui^ust,  and  an  infringement  upon  his  rights 
as  a  native  of  the  colony,  and  that  he  had  a  greater  claim,  on 
that  account,  upon  the  government,  than  men  who  were  perfect 
strangers.    This,  owing  to  his  limited  education,  was  not  alwaysi , 
the  case;  but  the  preference  shown  to  the  British  emigrant 
proved  an  active  source  of  ill-will  and  discontent..  The  favoured  , 
occnpant  of  place  and  power  was  not  at  all  inclined  to  conciliate 
his  Canadian  rival,  or  to  give  up  the  title  to  mental  si^eriority 
which  he  derived  from  birth  and  education ;  and  he  too  often  > 
treated  his  illiterate,  but  sagacious  political  opponent,  with  a 
contempt  which  his  practical  knowledge  and  experience  did  nd^ 
merit.    It  was  a  miserable  state  of  things ;  and  I  believe  that 
most  large  towns  in  the  province  bore,  in  these  respects,  a  strik- " 
log  resemblance  to  each  other.    Those  who  wished  to  see  impar-^ 
tial  justice  administered  to  all,  had  but  an  uncomfortable  time  of  - 


LIFK   IK  THX  0LBARIHG8. 


49 


f 

i- 
e 
)- 

't, 
it 

iBt 
Ut 

nd 
up 
ber 

his 
Bn- 
>ra- 
len 

aen 
her 
ere 
sid- 
Khts 
on 
feet 
ays 
■ant 
ired 
iate 
rity 
ften 
a 
n6t 
that 
lik- 
par- 
eof 


h 


it, — both  pfffdes  regarding  -with  mistrast  those  men  who  conid 
not  go  the  whole  length  with  them  in  their  political  opinion?. 
To  gain  influence  in  Oanada,  and  be  the  leader  of  a  party,  a 
man  mnst,  as  the  Yankees  say,  ^'■go  the  whole  hog.^ 

The  people  in  the  back  woods  were  fortunate  in  not  having 
their  peace  disturbed  by  these  political  broils.  In  the  depths  of 
the  dark  forest,  they  were  profoundly  ignorant  of  how  the  colony 
was  governed ;  and  many  did  not  even  know  which  party  was 
m  power,  and  when  the  rebellion  actually  broke  out  tt  fell  upon 
them  like  a  thunder-clap.  But  in  their  ignorance  and  seclusion 
there  was  at  least  safety,  and  they  were  free  from  that  dreadful 
scourge—"  the  malicious  strife  of  tongues." 

The  fever  of  the  '■^Clergy  Eeserves  qtieation"  was  then  at  its 
height.  It  was  never  introduced  in  company  but  to  give  offence, 
and  lead  to  fierce  political  discussions.  All  parties  were  vrrong, 
and  nobody  was  convinced.  This  vexed  political  question  always 
brought  before  my  mental  vision  a  ludicrous  sort  of  caricature, 
which,  if  I  had  the  artistic  skiU  to  delineate,  would  form  no  bad 
illustration  of  this  perplexing  subject. 

I  saw  in  my  mind's  eyo  a  group  of  dogs  in  the  market<place  of 
a  large  town,  to  whom  some  benevolent  individual,  with  a  view 
to  their  mutual  benefit,  had  flung  a  shank  of  beef,  v«rith  meat 
enough  upon  the  npper  end  to  have  satisfied  the  hunger  of  all, 
could  such  an  impossible  thing  as  an  equal  division,  among  such 
noisy  claimants,  have  been  made. 

A  strong  EngUsh  buU-dog  immediately  seized  upon  the^aone, 
and  for  some  time  gnawed  away  at  the  best  end  of  it,  and  con- 
trived to  keep  all  the  other  dogs  at  bay.  This  proceeding  was 
resented  by  a  stout  mastifi',  who  thought  that  he  had  as  good 
a  right  to  the  beef  as  the  bull-dog,  and  flung  himself  tooth  and 
claw  upon  his  opponent.  While  these  two  were  fighting  and 
wrangling  over  the  bone,  a  wiry,  active  Scotch  terrier,  thongh 
but  half  the  size  of  the  other  combatants,  began  tugging  at  the  small 
end  of  the  shank,  snarling  and  barking  with  all  the  strength  of 
his  lungs,  to  gain  at  least  a  chance  of  being  heard,  even  if  he  aid 
fail  in  putting  in  his  claims  to  a  share  of  the  meat. 

An  old  cunning  crevhound,  to  whom  no  share  had  b         -     - 


vixcr 


ou, 


•  1 


50 


urn   IM  TUK  OLBARIMOS. 


and  who  well  knew  that  it  was  of  no  use  putting  himself  against 
the  strength  of  the  bnll-dog  and  mastiff,  stood  proudly  aloof, 
witii  quivering  ears  and  tail,  regarding  the  doiogs  of  the  others 
with  a  glance  of  soyereign  contempt ;  yet,  watching  with  his 
keen  eye  for  an  opportunity  of  making  a  suocessfU  spring,  while 
they  were  busily  engaged  in  snarling  and  biting  each  other,  to 
carry  off  the  meat,  bone  and  all. 

A  multitude  of  nondescript  ours,  of  no  weight  in  themselves, 
were  snapping  and  snufOdng  round  the  bone,  eagerly  anticipating 
the  few  tit  bits,  which  they  hoped  might  fall  to  their  share  dur- 
ing the  prolonged  souffle  among  the  higher  powers ;  while  the 
figure  of  Justice,  dimly  seen  in  the  distance,  was  poising  her 
scales,  and  lifting  her  sword  to  make  an  equal  division ;  but  her 
voice  failed  to  be  heard,  and  her  august  presence  regarded,  in 
the  universal  hubbub.  The  height  to  which  party  feeling  was 
carried  in  those  days,  had  to  be  experienced  before  it  could  be 
fully  understood. 

Happily  for  the  colony,  this  evil  spirit,  during  tlie  last  three 
years,  has  greatly  diminished.  The  two  rival  parties,  though 
they  occasionally  abuse  and  vilify  each^other,  through  the  me- 
dium of  the  comnapn  safety  valve — ^the  public  papers — are  not  so 
virulent  as  in  1840.  They  are  more  equally  matched.  The  union 
of  the  provinces  has  kept  the  reform  party  in  the  ascendant,  ano* 
they  are  very  indifferent  to  the  good  or  ill  opinion  of  their  op- 
ponents. 

The  colony  has  greatly  progressed  under  their  administration, 
and  is  now  in  a  most  prosperous  and  flourishing  state.  The 
municipal  and  district  councils,  free  schools,  and  the  improve- 
ment in  the  public,  thoroughfares  of  the  country,  are  owing  to 
them,  and  have  i>ro\red  a  great  blessing  to  the  community. 
The  resources  of  the  vountry  are  daily  being  opened  up,  and 
both  at  hom£  and  abroad  Canada  is  rising  in  public  estimation. 

As  a  woman,  I  c  annot  « riter  into  the  philosophy  of  these 
things,  nor  is  it  ray  intention  to  do  so.    I  leave  statistics  for<, 
wiser  and  cleverer  male  heads.    But,  even  as  a  woman,  I  can- 
not help  rejoicing  in  the  beneficial  effects  that  these  changes 
have  wrought  in  the  land  of  my  adoption.    The  day  of  our  com- 


1 


UVm  IK   THB  OUCARINOB. 


61 


■m 


meroial  and  DAtioiuJ  prosperity  has  dawned,  and  the  rays  of  the 
8UD  already  brighten  the  hill-top4. 

To  those  persons  who  have  been  brought  up  in  the  old  oonntry, 
and  acoustomed  from  infancy  to  adhere  to  the  conventional 
riiles  of  society,  the  mixed  society  most,  for  a  long  time,  prove 
very  distasteftil.  Tet  this  very  freedom,  which  is  so  repugnant 
to  all  their  preconceived  notions  and  prejudices,  is  by  no  moans 
80  unpleasant  as  strangers  would  be  led  to  imagine.  A  certain 
mixture  of  the  common  and  the  real,  of  the  absurd  and  the 
ridiculous,  gives  a  zest  to  the  cold,  tame  decencies,  to  be  found  in 
more  exclusive  and  refined  circles.  Human  passions  and  feelings 
are  exhibited  with  more  fidelity,  and  you  see  men  and  women  as 
they  really  are.  And  many  kind,  good,  and  noble  traits  are  to 
be  found  among  those  classes,  whom  at  home  we  regard  as  our 
inferiors.  The  lady  and  gentleman  in  Canada  are  as  distinctly 
marked  as  elsewhere.  There  is  no  mistaking  the  superiority  that 
mental  cultivation  bestows ;  and  their  mingling  in  public  with 
their  less  gifted  neighbours,  rather  adds  than  takes  from  their 
claims  to  hold  the  first  place.  I  consider  the  state  of  society  in 
a  more  healthy  condition  than  at  home ;  and  people,  when  they 
go  out  for  pleasure  here  seem  to  e^joy  themselves  much  more. 

The  harmony  that  reigns  among  the  members  of  a  Canadian 
family  is  tni^  .elightful.  They  are  not  a  quarrelsome  people  in 
their  own  iioraes.  No  contradicting  or  disputing,  or  hateful 
rivalry,  is  to  be  seen  between  Canadian  brothers  and  sisters. 
They  cling  together  through  good  and  ill  report,  like  the  bundle 
of  sticks  in  the  fable ;  and  I  have  seldom  found  a  real  Canadian 
ashamed  of  owning  a  poor  relation.  This  to  me  is  a  beautiful 
feature  in  the  Canadian  character.  Perhaps  the  perfect  equality 
on  which  children  stand  in  a  family,  the  superior  claim  of  elder- 
ship,  so  much  upheld  at  home,  never  being  enforced,  is  one  great 
cause  of  this  domestic  union  of  kindred  hearts. 
'  Most  of  the  pretence,  and  affected  airs  of  importance,  occa- 
sionally  met  with  in  Canada,  are  not  the  genuine  i»'oduce  of  tho 
soil,  but  importations  from  the  mother  country ;  and,  as  sure  as 
you  hear  any  one  boasting  of  the  rank  and  consequence  they 
possessed  at  home,  you  may  be  certain  that  it  was  quite  the  re- 
verse.   An  old  Dutch  lady,  after  listening  very  attentively  to  a 


52 


LIIIB   IN   TUA   OLBARIKOS. 


i 


i 


I 


i. 


yonng  Irishwoman's  aoconnt  of  the  grandeur  oi  her  father's 
family  at  home,  said  rather  drity  to  the  s^-exalted  damsel, — ^ 

"  Goodness  me,  child  1  if  you  were  so  well  off,  what  hronght 
yon  to  a  poor  country  like  this  ?  I  am  sure  yon  had  been  much 
wiser  had  you  staid  to  hum — ^" 

"  Tes.  But  my  |>apa  heard  such  fine  commendations  of  the 
country,  that  he  sold  his  estate  to  come  out." 

*'  To  pay  his  debts,  perhaps,"  said  the  provoking  old  woman.* 

"  Ah,  no,  ma'am,"  she  replied,  very  innocently,  **  he  never  paid 
them.  He  was  told  that  it  was  a  very  fine  climate,  and  he  came 
for  the  good  of  our  health."  * 

"  Why,  my  dear,  you  look  as  if  you  never  had  had  a  day's 
sickness  in  your  life." 

*^'So  more  I  have,"  she  replied,  putting  on  a  very  languid  air, 
"  but  I  am  very  delicate"  ■* 

This  term  delicate^  be  it  known  to  my  readers,  is  a  favourite 
one  with  young  ladies  here,  but  its  general  application  would 
lead  you  to  imagine  it  another  term  for  lasinesa.  It  is  quite  fash- 
ionable to  be  delicate,  but  horribly  vulgar  to  be  considered  capa- 
ble of  enjoying  such  a  useless  blessing,  as  good  health.  I  knew  a 
lady,  when  I  first  came  to  the  colony,  who  had  her  children  daily 
washed  in  water  almost  hot  enough  to  scald  a  pig.  On  being 
asked  why  she  did  so,  as  it  was  not  only  an  unhealthy  practice, 
but  would  rob  the  little  girls  of  their  fine  colour,  she  ex- 
claimed,— 

^*  Oh,  that  is  just  what  I  do  it  for.  I  want  them  to  look  deli- 
cate. They  have  such  red  faces,  and  are  as  coarse  and  healthy  as 
country  girls." 

The  rosy  face  of  the  British  emigrant  is  regarded  as  no  beauty 
hero.  The  Canadian  women,  like  their  neighbours  the  Ameri- 
cans, have  small  regular  features,  but  are  mostly  pale,  or  their  faces 
are  only  slightly  suffused  with  a  faint  flush.  During  the  season  of 
youth  this  delicate  tinting  is  very  beautiful,  but  a  few  years  de- 
prive them  of  it,  and  leave  a  sickly,  sallow  pallor  in  its  place. 
The  loss  of  their  teeth,  too,  is  a  great  drawback  to  their  per- 
soi  al  charms,  but  these  can  bo  so  well  supplied  by  the  dentist 
that  it  is  not  so  much  felt :  the  thing  is  so  universal,  that  it  is 
hardly  thought  detrimental  to  an  otherwise  pretty  face. 


.v's 


LIFE   IN   THE  CLBARIirOS. 


68 


But  to  return  to  the  mere  pretenders  in  sodety,  of  which,  of 
conrse,  there  are  not  a  few  here,  as  elsewhere.  I  onoe  met  two 
very  stylishly-dressed  women  at  a  place  of  pnblio  entertainment. 
The  father  of  these  ladies  had  followed  the  laorative  but  unaris- 
tooratic  trade  of  a  tailor  in  London.  One  of  them  be^m  com- 
plaining to  me  of  the  mixed  state  of  society  in  Canada,  which 
she  considered  a  dreadful  calamity  to  persons  like  her  and  her  sis- 
ter; and  ended  her  lionentations  by  exclaiming, — 

"  What  would  my  pa'  have  thought  could  he  have  seen  us  here 
to-night  9  Is  it  not  terrible  for  ladies  to  have  to  dance  in  the 
same  room  with  storekeepers  and  their  clerks?" 

Another  lady  of  the  same  stamp,  the  daughter  of  a  tavern- 
keeper,  was  indignant  at  being  introduced  to  a  gentleman  whose 
father  had  followed  the  same  calling. 

Such  persons  seem  to  forget,  that  as  long  as  people  retain  their 
natural  mann^v,  and  remain  true  to  tiie  dignity  of  their  human- 
ity, they  cannot  with  any  justice  be  called  vulgwr;  for  vulgarity 
consists  in  presumptuously  affecting  to  be  what  we  are  not,  and 
in  claiming  distinctions  which  we  do  not  deserve,  and  which  no 
one  else  would  admit. 

The  farmer,  in  his  homespun,  may  possess  the  real  essentials 
which  make  the  gentleman — good  feeling,  and  respect  for  the 
feelings  of  others.  The  homely  dress,  weather-beaten  fice,  and 
hard  hands,  could  not  deprive  him  of  the  honest  independence 
and  genial  benevolence  he  derived  from  nature.  No  real  gen- 
tleman would  treat  such  a  man,  however  humble  his  circum- 
stances, with  insolence  or  contempt.  But  place  the  same  man 
out  of  his  class,  dress  him  in  the  height  of  fashion,  and  let  him 
attempt  to  imitate  the  manners  of  the  great,  and  the  whole 
world  would  laugh  at  the  counterfeit.  * 

Uneducated,  ignorant  people  often  rise  by  their  industry  to 
great  wealth  in  the  colcHiy ;  to  such  the  preference  shown  to  the 
educated  man  always  seems  a  puzzle.  Their  ideas  of  gentility 
consist  in  being  the  owners  of  fine  clothes,  fine  houses,  splendid 
furniture,  expensive  equipages,  and  plenty  of  money.  They 
have  all  these,  yet  even  the  most  ignorant  feel  that  something 
else  is  rennired.  They  cannot  comprehend  the  mysterious  as- 
cendancy of  mind  over  mere  animal  enjoyments ;  yet  they  havo 


m 


LIIV  IN  THB  CLBARINOS. 


?  :•' 


W  * 


Bense  enongb,  by  bestowing  a  liberal  education  on  their  children, 
to  endeavour,  at  least  in  their  case,  to  remedy  the  evil. 

The  affectation  of  wishing  people  to  think  that  yon  had  been 
better  off  in  the  mother  country  than  in  Canada,  is  not  confined 
to  the  higher  class  of  emigrants.  The  very  poorest  are  the  most 
remarked  for  this  ridionlous  boasting.  A  servant  girl  of  mine 
told  me,  with  a  very  grand  tossof  the  head,  ** that  she  did  not 
choose  to  demcms  herseP  by  scrubbing  a  floor ;  that  she  belonged 
to  the  To/al  gintry  in  the  onld  counthry,  and  her  papa  and 
manmia  niver  brought  her  up  to  hard  work." 

This  interesting  scion  of  the  aristocracy  was  one  of  the  coarsest 
specimens  of  female  humanity  I  ever  beheld.  If  I  called  her  to 
bring  a  piece  of  wood  for  the  parlour  fire,  she.  would  thrust  her 
tangled,  uncombed  red  head  in  at  the  door,  and  shout  at  the  top 
of  her  voice,  "Did  yer  holler?"  t 

One  of  our  working  men,  wishing  to  impress  me  with  the 
dignity  of  his  wife's  connexions,  said  with  all  becoming  solemnity 
of  look  and  manner — 

tl' Doubtless,  ma'am,  you  have  heard  in  the  ould  counthry  of 
Oonnor's  racers :  Margaret's  father  kept  those  racers." 

When  I  recalled  the  person  of  the  individual  whose  fame  was 
80  widely  spread  at  home,  and  thought  of  the  racers,  I  could 
hardly  keep  a  "straight  face,"  as  an  American  friend  terms 
laughing,  when  you  are  bound  to  look  grave. 

One  want  is  greatly  felt  here ;  but  it  is  to  be  hoped  that  a 
more  liberal  system  of  education  and  higher  moral  culture  will 
remedy  the  evil.  Th'^re  is  a  great  deficiency  among  our  pro- 
fessional men  and  wealthy  traders  of  that  nice  sense  of  honour 
that  marks  the  conduct  and  dealings  of  the  same  class  at  home. 
Of  course  many  bright  exceptions  are  to  be  found  in  the  colony, 
but  too  many  of  the  Oanadians  think  it  no  disgrace  to  take  every 
advantage  of  the  ignorance  and  inexperience  of  strangers. 

If  you  are  not  smart  enough  to  drive  a  close  bargain,  they 
consider  it  only  fair  to  take  you  in.  A  man  loses  very  little  in 
the  public  estimation  by  making  over  all  his  property  to  some 
convenient  friend,  in  order  to  defi'aud  his  creditors,  while  he 
retains  a  competency  for  himself.  » i 

Women,  whose  husbands  have  been  detained  on  the  limits  for 


V- 


■  m 


LIFS   IN   THE   0LBARING8. 


65 


years  for  debt,  will  give  large  parties  and  dress  in  the  most 
expensive  style.  This  would  be  thought  dishonourable  at  home, 
but  is  considered  no  disgrace  here.  • 

*'  Honoiur  is  all  very  well  in  an  old  country  like  England," 
said  a  lady,  with  whom  I  had  been  arguing  on  the  subject; 
"  but,  Mrs.  M-— ,  it  won't  do  in  a  new  country  like  this.  Yon 
may  as  well  cheat  as  be  cheated.  For  my  part,  I  never  lose  an 
advantage  by  indulging  in  such  foolish  notions." 

I  have  no  doubt  that  a  person  who  entertained  such  prindplos 
would  not  fail  to  reduce  them  to  practice. 

The  idea  that  some  country  people  fonn  of  an  author  is  highly 
amusing.    One  of  my  boys  was  tauntingly  told  by  another  lad  at 

school,  "  that  his  ma'  said  that  Mrs.  M invented  lies,  and  got 

money  for  them,"  This  was  her  estimation  of  works  of  mere 
fiction. 

Once  I  was  driven  by  a  young  Irish  friend  to  call  upon  the 
wife  of  a  rich  farmer  in  the  country.  We  were  shown  by  the 
master  of  the  house  into  a  very  handsomely  furnished  room,  in 
which  there  was  no  lack  of  substantial  comfort,  and  even  of  some 
elegances,  in  the  shape  of  books,  pictures,  and  a  piano.  The 
good  man  lefb  us  to  inform  his  wife  of  our  arrival,  and  for  some 
minutes  we  remained  in  solemn  state,  until  the  mistress  of  the 
house  made  her  appearance. 

She  had  been  called  from  the  washtub,  and,  like  a  sensiblo 
woman,  was  not  ashamed  of  her  domestic  occupation.  She  came 
in  wiping  the  suds  from  her  hands  on  her  apron,  and  gave  us  a 
very  hearty  and  friendly  welcome.  She  was  a  short,  stout, 
middle-aged  woman,  with  a  very  pleasing  countenance;  and 
though  only  in  her  coloured  flannel  working-dress,  with  a  night- 
cap on  her  head,  and  spectacled  nose,  there  was  something 
in  her  frank  good-natured  face  that  greatly  prepossessed  us  in 
her  favour.  ,^ 

After  giving  us  the  common  compliments  of  the  day,  she  drew 
her  chair  just  in  front  of  me,  and,  resting  her  elbows  on  her 
knees,  and  dropping  her  chin  between  her  hands,  she  sat  regard- 
ing me  with  such  a  fixed  gaze  that  it  became  very  embari'assing. 

"'  So,"  says  she,  at  last,  "  you  are  Mrs.  M—  ?" 


y 


t( 


Yes. 


« 


56 


LIFB   IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


i 


"The  woman  that  writes?" 

"The  same." 

She  drew  hack  her  chair  for  a  few  paces,  with  a  deep-drawn 
sigh,  in  which  di8app(  mtment  and  surprise  seemed  strangely  to 
min«:ie.  "Well,  I  have  he'rd  a  great  detJ  ahout  you,  and  I 
wanted  to  see  you  bad  for  a  long  time;  but  you  are  only  a 
humly  person  like  myself  after  all.  Why  I  do  think,  if  I  had  on 
my  best  gown  and  cap,  I  should  look  a  great  deal  younger  and 
better  than  you." 

I  told  her  that  I  had  no  doubt  of  the  fact. 

"  And  pray,"  continued  she,  with  the  same  provoking  scrutiny, 
"  how  old  do  you  call  yourself?" 

I  told  her  my  exact  age. 

"Humph!"  quoth  she,  as  if  she  rather  doubted  my  word, 
"  two  years  younger  nor  me  I  you  look  a  great  deal  older  nor 
that." 

After  a  long  pause,  and  another  searching  gaze,  "Do  you  call 
those  teeth  your  own  ?" 

"Yes,"  said  I,  laughing;  for  I  could  retain  my  gravity  no 
longer ;  "  in  the  very  truest  sense  of  the  word  they  are  mine,  as 
God  gave  them  to  me." 

M:  ttYou  are  luckier  than  your  neighbours,"  said  she.    "But 
aim't  you  greatly  troubled  with  headaches?"  '" 

^^  "  No,"  said  I,  rather  startled  at  this  fresh  interrogatory. 

"My  1"  exclaimed  she,  "I  tliought  you  must  be,  your  eyes  are 

so  sunk  in  your  head.    Well,  well,  so  you  are  Mis.  M of 

Belleville,  the  woman  that  writes.  You  are  but  a  humly  body 
after  all." 

While  this  curious  colloquy  was  going  on,  my  poor  Irish  friend 
sat  on  thorns,  and  tried,  by  throwing  in  a  little  judicious  blarney, 
to  soften  the  thrusts  of  the  home  truths  to  which  he  had  un- 
wittingly exposed  me.  Between  every  pause  in  the  conversa- 
tion, he  broke  in  with — "  I  am  sure  Mrs.  M is  a  fine-looking 

woman — a  very  young-looking  woman  for  her  age.  Any  person 
might  know  at  a  glance  that  those  teeth  were  her  own.  They 
look  too  natural  to  be  false." 

Now- 1  am  c-ertAin  that  the  poor  little  woman  never  meant  to 
wound  my  feelings,  nor  ^ve  me  offence.    She  literally  spoke  her 


UVS  IN  THX  OLBARlir«b. 


67 


tii 


;Iionglit8,  and  I  was  too  mach  amused  with  the  whole  scene  to 
feel  the  least  irritated  by  her  honest  bluntness.  She  expected  to 
find  in  an  author  something  qnite  out  of  the  common  way,  and  I 
did  not  come  np  at  all  to  her  expectations. 

Her  opinion  of  me  was  not  more  absm-d  than  the  remarks  of 
two  ladies  who,  after  calling  upon  me  for  the  first  time,  com«> 
municated  the  result  of  iiheir  observations  to  a  mutual  friend.    ^ 

"  We  have  seen  Mrs.  M ,  and  we  were  so  surprised  to  find 

her  just  like  other  people  1" 

"  What  did  you  expect  to  see  in  her?** 

"Oh,  something  very  difiCTent.  We  were  very  much  dis- 
appointed." 

"  That  she  was  not  sitting  upon  her  head,"  said  my  friend, 
smiling ;  "  I  like  Mrs.  M— -,  because  she  is  in  every  respect  like 
other  people ;  and  I  should  not  have  teken  her  for  a  blue-stocking 
at  all." 

The  sin  of  authorship  meets  with  little  toleration  in  a  new 
country.  Several  persons  of  this  class,  finding  few  minds  that 
could  sympathise  with  them,  and  enter  into  their  literary  pur- 
suits, have  yielded  to  despondency,  or  &Iieu  victims  to  that 
insidious  enemy  of  souls,  Canadian  whisky.  Such  a  spirit  was 
the  unfortunate  Dr.  Huskins,  late  of  Frankfort  on  the  river  Trent. 
The  fate  of  this  g*  ntleman,  wuo  was  a  learned  and  accomplished 
man  of  genius,  left  a  very  sad  impression  on  my  mind.  Like  too 
many  of  that  highly  gifted,  bub  unhappy  fraternity,  he  struggled 
throagh  his  brief  life,  overwhelmed  with  the  weight  of  xmde- 
served  calumny,  and  his  peace  of  mind  embittered  with  the  most 
galling  neglect  and  poverty. 

The  want  of  sympathy  experienced  by  him  from  men  of  his 
own  class,  pressed  sorely  upon  the  heurt  of  the  sensitive  man  of 
talent  and  refinement ;  he  found  very  few  who  ooidd  appreciate 
or  understand  his  mental  superiority,  which  was  pronounced  as 
folly  and  madness  by  the  ignorant  persons  about  him.  A  new 
country,  where  all  are  rushing  eagerly  forward  in  order  to  secure 
the  common  necessaries  of  life,  is  not  a  fiavourable  soil  in  which 
to  nourish  the  bright  fancies  and  delusive  dreams  of  the  poet. 
Dr.  Huskins  perceived  his  error  too  late,  when  he  no  longer 
retained  the  means  to  remove  to  a  more  favourable  spot, — and 

3* 


08 


UFB  IN  THB  0LSARINO8. 


his  was  not  a  mind  whicli  cou  meet  and  oombat  snooessfblly 
with  the  ills  of  life.  He  endeavoured  to  bear  proudly  the  evils 
of  his  situation,  but  he  had  neither  the  energy  nor  the  courage 
to  surmount  them.  He  withdrew  himself  firom  society,  and 
passed  the  remainder  of  his  days  in  a  sohtary,  oomfprtless,  log 
hut  on  the  borders  of  the  wilderness.  Here  he  drooped  and  died, 
as  too  many  like  him  have  died,  heartbroken  and  alone.  A  sad 
mystery  involves  the  last  hours  of  his  life ;  it  is  said  that  he  and 
Dr.  Sutor,  another  talented  but  very  dissipated  man,  had  entered 
into  a  compact  to  drink  until  they  both  died.  Whether  this 
statement  is  true  cannot  now  be  positively  ascertained.  It  is 
certain,  however,  that  Dr.  Sutor  was  found  dead  upon  the  floor 
of  the  miserable  shanty  occupied  by  his  friend,  and  that  Dr. 
Huskins  was  lying  on  his  bed  in  the  agonies  of  death.  Oould 
the  many  fine  poems,  composed  by  Dr.  Huskins  in  his  solitary 
exile,  be  collected  and  published,  we  feel  assured  that  posterity 
would  do  him  justice,  and  that  I 's  name  would  rank  high  among 
the  bards  of  the  green  isle. 


A' 


TO  THE  MEMORY  OF  DR.  HUSKINS.  :; 

"  Neglected  son  of  genius !  thou  hast  pass'd 

In  broken-hearted  loneliness  away ; 
And  one  who  prized  thy  talents,  fain  would  cast 

The  cypress-wreath  above  thy  nameless  clay. 

Ah,  could  she  yet  thy  spirit's  flight  delay, 
'Till  the  cold  world,  relenting  from  its  scorn, 
The  fadeless  laurel  round  thy  brows  .should  twine. 

Crowning  the  innate  majesty  of  mind, 
By  crushing  poverty  and  sorrow  torn. 
ii     ,v;  Peace  to  thy  mould'ring  ashes,  till  revive 

Bright  memories  of  thee  in  deathless  song!  ' 

True  to  the  dead,  Time  shall  relenting  give 
The  meed  of  fame  deserved-delayed  too  long, 

And  in  immortal  verse  the  bard  again  shall  live !"         \ 

Alas !  this  frightful  vice  of  drinking  prevails  throughout  the 
colony  to  an  alarming  extent.    Professional  gentlemen  are  not 

aahftmed  of  hAfncp  haati  igflnincp  frnTw  fliA  1%aK-i*/\/\*n  r\f  a  4'««TA«n   ■ 


I 


UrS   IN   THE    OLKARINGS. 


59 


oarly  in  the  morning,  or  of  being  caaght  reeling  home  from  the 
same  sink  of  iniquity  late  at  night.    No  sense  of  shame  seems  to 
deter  them  from  the  porsnit  of  their  darling  sin.    I  have  heard 
that  some  of  these  regular  topers  place  brandy  beside  their  beds 
that,  should  they  aw.  ':e  during  the  night,  they  may  have  within 
their  reach  the  fiery  potion  lor  which  they  are  bartering  body 
and  soul.    Some  of  these  persons,  after  having  been  warned  of 
their  danger  by  repeated  fits  of  delirium  tremens,  have  joined 
the  tee-totallers ;  but  their  abstinence  only  lasted  until  the  re- 
establishment  of  then:  health  enabled  them  to  return  to  their  old 
haunts,  and  become  more  hardened  in  their  vile  habits  than 
before.    It  is  to  be  questioned  whether  the  signing  of  any  pledge 
is  likely  to  prove  a  permanent  remedy  for  this  great  moral  evil. 
If  an  appeal  to  the  heart  and  conscience,  and  the  i^<^ar  of  incur- 
ring the  displeasure  of  an  offended  God,  are  not  sufficiently 
deter  a  man  from  becoming  an  active  instrument  in  the  ruin  of 
himself  and  family,  no  forcible  restraint  upon  his  animal  desires 
^  will  be  likely  to  effect  a  real  reformation.   It  appears  to  me  that 
^  the  temperance  people  begin  at  the  wrong  end  of  the  matter,  by 
'^  restraining  the  animal  propensities  before  they  have  convinced 
.  the  mind.    If  a  man  abstain  from  drink  only  as  long  as  the  ac- 
.  cursed  thing  is  placed  beyond  his  reach,  it  is  after  all  but  a 
negative  virtue,  to  be  overcome  by  the  first  strong  temptation. 
'  "W^ere  incurable  drunkards  treated  as  lunatics,  and  a  proper  asy- 
lum provided  for  them  in  every  large  town,  and  the  management 
of  their  affWrs  committed  to  their  wives  or  adult  children,  the 
bare  idea  of  being  confined  under  such  a  plea  would  operate 
more  forcibly  upon  them  than  by  signing  a  pledge,  which  they 
can  break  or  resume  according  to  the  caprice  of  the  moment. 
A  drunkard,  while  under  the  influence  of  liquor,  is  a  madmsin 
;  in  every  sense  of  the  ^/vrd,  and  his  mental  aberration  is  often  of 
the  most  dangerous  kind.    Place  him  and  the  confirmed  niamac 
•side  by  side,  and  it  wouM  be  difficult  for  a  stranger  to  det<irmine 
which  was  tie  most  irrational  of  the  two. 

A  friend  related  to  me  th3  followiag  anecdote  of  a  physioian 
in  his  native  town : — ^This  man,  who  was  eminent  in  his  profes- 
sion, and  highly  resoectpd  by  all  wl.o  knew  him,  secretly 
indulged  in  the  pernicious  habit  of  uraui-uilr«king,  and  after  a 


ea 


Ulht  Iir   THB    0LBARIN08. 


% 


while  bade  fair  to  sink  into  a  hopeless  drnnkard.  At  the  earnest 
solicitations  of  his  weeping  wife  and  daughter  he  consented  to 
sign  the  pledge,  and  not  only  ardent  spirits  but  every  sort  of  in- 
toxicating beverage  was  banished  from  ihe  house. 

The  use  of  alcohol  is  allowed  in  cases  of  sickness  to  the  most 
rigid  disciplinarians,  and  our  doctor  began  to  find  that  keeping  his 
pledge  was  a  more  difficult  matter  than  he  had  at  first  imagined. 
Still,  for  eaeample's  sake^  of  course,  a  man  of  his  standing  in  society 
had  only  joined  for  exati'ple's  mice ;  he  did  not  like  openly  to 
break  it.  He  therefore  deigned  violent  toothache,  and  sent  the 
servant  ^r!*.  over  to  a  friend^s  house  to  borrow  a  small  phial  of 
brandy. 

The  brandy  was  sent,  with  many  kind  wishes  for  the  doctor's 
speedy  recovery.  The  phial  now  camo  every  night  to  be  re- 
filled; and  the  doctor's  toothache  seemed  likely  to  become  a  case 
of  incurable  tie  douloureva.  His  friend  took  the  alarm.  He 
found  it  both  expensive  and  inconvenient,  providing  the  doctor 
with  his  nightly  dose ;  and  wishing  to  see  how  matters  really 
stood,  he  followed  the  maid  and  the  brandy  one  evening  to  the 
doctor's  house. 

He  entered  unannounced.  It  was  as  he  suspected.  The  doc- 
tor was  lounging  in  his  easy  chair  before  the  fire,  indulging  in  a 
hearty  fit  of  laughter  over  some  paragraph  in  a  newepaj^er, 
which  he  held  in  his  ha'^d.  4 

"  Ah,  my  dear  J—,  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  so  well.  I 
thought  by  your  sending  for  the  brandy,  tliat  you  were  dying 
with  the  toothache." 

The  doctor,  rather  confounded — "Why,  yes;  I  have  been 
sadly  troubled  with  it  of  late.  It  does  not  coma  on,  however, 
before  eight  o'clock,  and  if  I  cannot  get  a  mouthful  of  brandy,  I 
never  can  get  a  wink  of  sleep  all  night." 

"  Did  you  ever  have  it  before  you  took  the  pledge  ?" 

"  Never ,"  said  the  doctor  emphatically. 

"  Perhaps  the  cold  water  does  not  agree  with  you  ?" 

The  doctor  began  to  smell  a  rat,  and  fell  vigorously  to  mend- 
ing the  fire. 

}^   "  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  J ,"  said  the  other ;  "  the  toothache 

1b  a  nervoua  aifection.    It  is  the  hrandv  that  is  the  disease.    It 


UVK   IH  THE   OLXARnrOS. 


#1 


may  cure  yon  of  an  imaginary  tootfaaohe;  bat  I  aasnre  yon, 
that  it  gives  yonr  wife  and  daughter  an  ineurable  hea/rtaehe.^ 

The  doctor  felt  at  that  moment  a  strange  palpitation  at  his 
own.  The  scales  fell  suddenly  from  his  eyes,  iftid  tbr  the  first 
time  his  conduct  appeared  in  its  true  light.  Betnming  the 
bottle  to  his  Mend,  he  said  very  humbly—"  Take  it  out  of  my 
sight;  I  feel  my  error  now.  I  will  cure  l^ir  heartache  by 
curing  myself  of  this  beastly  vice." 

The  doctor,  from  that  hour,  became  a  temperate  man.  He 
soon  regained  his  failing  practice,  and  the  esteem  of  his  Mends. 
The  appeal  to  his  better  feelings  effected  a  permanent  change  in 
his  habits,  which  signing  the  pledge  had  not  been  able  to  do. 
To  keep  up  an  appearance  of  consistency  he  had  had  recourse  to 
a  mean  subterfuge,  while  touching  his  heart  produced  a  lasting 
reform. 

Drinking  is  the  curse  of  Oanada,  and  the  very  low  price  of 
whisky  places  the  temptation  constantly  in  every  one^s  reach. 
But  it  is  not  by  adopting  by  main  force  the  Maine  Liquor  law, 
that  our  legislators  will  be  able  to  remedy  the  evil.  Ken  natu- 
rally resiiit  any  oppressive  measures  that  inMnge  upon  their 
private  rigiits,  even  though  such  mearures  are  adopted  solely  for 
their  benefit.  It  is  noo  wise  to  thrust  temperance  down  a  man's 
throat ;  and  the  surest  way  to  mi^e  him  a  drunkard  is  to  insist 
upon  his  being  sober.  The  zealous  advocates  of  this  measure 
(and  there  are  many  in  Oanada)  know  little  of  their  own,  or  tho 
nature  of  others.  It  would  be  the  fruitful  parent  of  hypocrisy, 
and  lay  the  foundation  of  crimes  still  greater  than  the  one  it  is 
expected  to  cure. 

To  wean  a  fellow-creature  from  the  indulgence  of  a  gross  sen- 
sual propensity,  as  I  said  before,  we  must  first  convince  the 
mind :  the  reform  must  commence  there.  Merely  withdrawing 
the  means  of  gratification,  and  treating  a  rational  bding  like  a 
child,  will  never  achieve  a  great  moral  conquest. 

In  pagan  countries,  tha  missionaries  can  only  rely  upon  the 
sincerity  of  the  converts,  who  are  educated  when  children  in 
their  schools ;  and  if  we  wish  to  see  drunkenness  banished  from 
our  towns  and  cities,  we  must  prepare  our  children  from  their 
earliest  infancy  to  resist  the  growing  evil.  :,..,.,-^    ,; 


/ 


6i 


UFS  IN  THB  OLSARINOB. 


Show  your  boy  a  drankard  wallowiag  in  the  streets,  like  some 
andean  animal  ia  the  mire.  Every  side-walk,  on  a  market-day, 
will  Airnish  yon  with  examples.  Point  out  to  him  the  immo- 
rality of  Buoh  a  degrading  position;  make  him  folly  sensible  of 
all  its  disgusting  horrors.  Tell  him  that  God  has  threatened  in 
words  of  unmistakable  import,  that  he  will  ezdade  such  from 
his  heavenly  kingdom.  Oonvinoe  him  that  snch  loathsome  im- 
purity most  totally  unfit  the  soul  for  communion  with  its  Gk>d — 
that  such  a  state  may  truly  be  looked  upon  as  the  second  death — 
the  foul  corruption  and  decay  of  both  body  and  soul.  Teach  the 
child  to  pray  against  drunkenness,  as  he  would  against  murder, 
lying,  and  theft ;  show  him  that  all  these  crimes  are  often  com- 
prised in  this  one,  which  in  too  many  cases  has  been  the  fruitftd 
parent  of  them  all. 

When  the  boy  grows  to  bo  a  man,  and  mingles  in  the  world 
of  men,  he  will  not  easily  forget  the  lesson  impressed  on  his 
young  heart.  He  will  remember  his  early  prayers  against  this 
terrible  vice — ^will  recall  that  disgusting  spectacle — and  will 
naturally  shrink  from  the  same  contamination.  Should  he  be 
overcome  by  temptation,  the  voice  of  conscience  will  plead  with 
him  in  such  decided  tones  that  she  will  be  heard,  and  lie  will  be 
ashamed  of  becomipg  the  idiot  thing  he  once  feared  and  loathed. 

THE  DEUNKABD'S  RETURN. 

"  Oh  1  ask  not  of  my  mom  of  Ufe, 

How  dark  and  dull  it  gloom'd  o'er  me ; 
Sharp  words  and  fierce  domestic  strife, 

Bobb'd  my  young  heart  of  all  its  glee— - 
The  sobs  of  one  heart>broken  wife, 

Low,  stifled  moann  of  agony, 
That  fell  upon  my  shrinking  ear, 
In  hollow  tones  of  woe  and  fear ; 
As  crouching,  weeping,  at  her  side, 

I  felt  my  soul  with  sorrow  swell, 
In  pity  begg'd  her  not  to  hide  ' 

The  cause  of  grief  I  knew  too  well ; 
Then  wept  a&esh  to  hear  her  pray 
That  death  might  take  us  both  away ! 


i 


', 


Urm  IV  TBI  OLIARIHOB. 


66 


'^*' 


.  ; 


^~_.t\ti 


" Aw»y  ficom  whom?— AUu  I  whst  ill 

Press'd  the  warm  life-hopei  from  her  heart? 

Wm  she  not  young  and  lovely  still  ? 
What  made  the  frequent  taar-dropi  Ktart 

From  eyes,  whose  light  of  love  oould  fill 
My  inmost  soul,  and  bade  me  part 
From  noisy  oomuradei  in  the  street, 

To  kiw  her  cheek,  so  cold  and  pale, 
To  clasp  her  neck,  and  hold  her  hand, 

And  list  the  oft-repeated  tale 
Of  woes  I  oould  not  understand; 

Yet  felt  their  f(»oe,  as,  day  by  day, 

I  watoh'd  her  fade  from  lifio  away  ? 

"  And  he,  the  cause  of  all  this  woe, 

Her  mat»~the  father  of  her  child,, 
In  dread  I  saw  him  come  and  go, 

With  many  an  awful  oath  reviled ; 
And  from  harsh  word,  and  harsher  blow, 

(In  answer  to  her  pleadings  mild,) 
I  shrank  in  terror,  till  I  caught  ' 

From  her  meek  eyes  th'  nnwhisper'd  thought-^ 

'  Bear  it,  my  Edward,  for  thy  mother's  sake  I 
He  cares  not,  in  his  sullen  mood. 

If  this  poor  heart  with  aiiguish  break.' 
That  look  was  felt,  and  undtirstood 
"By  her  young  son,  thus  school'd  to  bear 

His  wr<Higs,  to  soothe  her  deep  despair. 

"  Oh,  how  I  loath'd  him  ! — ^how  I  scom'd 

His  idiot  laugh,  or  demon  firown — 
His  features  bloated  and  defbrm'd ; 

The  jests  with  which  he  sought  to  drown 
The  consciousness  of  sin,  or  storm'd. 

To  put  reproof  or  anger  down. 
Oh,  'tia  a  fearful  thing  to  feel 
Stem,  sullen  hate,  the  bosom  steel 

'Gainst  one  whom  nature  bids  us  prize 
The  first  link  in  her  mystic  chain ; 

Which  binds  in  strong  and  tender  ties 
The  heart,  while  reason  rules  the  brain. 


V;  ■:■ 


Une  IN  TBI  0LBARIKG8. 


.■ 


r. 


And  mingling  lore  with  holy  fear, 
Bendera  the  parent  doubly  dear. 

"  I  cannot  bear  to  think  how  do^ 

The  hatred  waa  I  bore  him  then ; 
But  he  haa  ilept  his  last  long  eleep, 

And  I  have  trod  the  haunts  of  men ; 
Have  felt  the  tide  of  paaaicm  sweep 

Through  manhood's  flery  heart,  and  when 
By  strong  temptation  tOHs'd  and  tried, 
I  thought  bow  that  lost  fatb      lied ; 

TJnw^i^  unpitied,  in  his  b^n ; 
Then  tears  of  burning  shame  would  rifl<v 

And  stem  remorse  awake  within 
A  host  of  mental  agonies. 
'  '    He  fell — ^by  one  dark  vice  defiled ; 

Was  I  more  pure— -his  erring  child  t 

"  Te»— erring  diild  ;-^but  to  my  tale. 

My  mother  loyed  the  lost  one  still, 
From  the  deep  fimnt  which  could  not  fail 

(Tluroiigh  chmges  dark,  from  good  to  ill,) 
Her  wcnnan's  heart— and  sad  and  pale, 

She  yidded  to  his  stubbcHm  will ; 
Perchance  she  felt  remonstrance  vain— 
The  effort  to  resist  gave  pain. 
But  carefully  she  hid  her  grief 

From  him,  tiie  idol  of  her  youth ; 
And  fondly  hoped,  against  belief^ 

That  her  deepiove  had  stedfast  truth 
Would  touch  his  heart,  and  win  him  back 
From  Folly's  dark  and  devious  track. 

"  Vain  hope !  the  drunkard's  heart  is  hard  as  8tonc ; 

No  grief  disturbs  liis  selfish,  sensual  joy ; 
His  wife  may  weep,  his  starving  children  groan, 

And  Poverty  with  cruel  gripe  annoy : 
He  neither  hears,  nor  heeds  their  famish'd  moan  j 

The  glorious  wine-cup  owns  no  base  alloy. 
Surrounded  by  a  low,  degraded  train, 
His  fiendish  ^augh  defiance  bids  to  pain ; 


\--.:f  '-:. 


Lins   IN  THB  OlSARIVOS.  66 


H«  hngs  the  oup— <more  deftr  thsn  firlends  to  hi 
Nor  sees  stem  ruin  from  the  goblet  riie, 

Nor  flamee  of  hell  oareering  o'er  the  brhn— 
The  lava  flood  that  glads  his  bloodohot  eyes 

Foisons  alike  his  body  and  his  soul, 

TiU  reason  lies  self^nnrder'd  in  the  bowl. 


"  It  was  a  dark  and  fearful  winter  night,    ^ 

Loud  roar'd  the  tempest  round  our  hovel  home ; 
Cold,  hungry,  wet,  and  weary  was  our  plight. 

And  stiU  we  listen'd  for  his  step  to  come. 
My  poor  sick  mother ! — 'twas  a  piteous  sight 

To  see  her  shrink  and  shiver,  as  our  dome 
Shook  to  the  rattling  blast ;  and  to  the  door 
She  crept,  to  look  along  the  bleak,  black  rnoor. 

He  cornea — he  comes ! — »nd,  quivering  all  with  dread, 
She  spoke  kind  welcome  to  that  sinful  man. 

His  sole  r^Iy-o»'  Get  supper— give  me  bresd  i ' 
Then,  with  a  sneer,  hu  tauntini^y  beg  ■■>>. 

To  mock  the  want  that  stared  him    i  thd  face. 

Her  bitter  sorrow,  and  his  own  disgrace, 

V 

'I  haVe  no  money  to  procure  you  food, 

No  wood,  no  coal,  to  raise  a  cheei^  fire ; 

The  maddening  cup  may  warm  your  flozen  blood— 
We  die,  for  lack  of  that  which  you  desire  ! 

She  ceased,— erect  one  moment  there  he  stood. 
The  foam  upon  his  Up ;  with  fiendish  ire 

He  seized  a  Imife  which  glittered  in  his  way. 

And  rushed  with  fury  od  his  helpless  prey. 
Then  from  a  dusky  nzr  :i  '  fiercely  sprung, 

The  strength  of  manhc.  d  in  that  single  bound : 
"^    Around  his  bloated  f(»m  I  tightly  clung, 

And  headlong  brouglxi;  the  murderer  to  the  groimd. 
We  fell — his  t<»nples  struck  the  cold  hearth  stone. 
The  blood  gushed  forth — ^he  died  without  a  moan  I 

**  Yea — ^by  my  hand  he  died  !  one  frantic  cry 

Of  mortal  anguish  thrilled  my  madden'd  brain, 
Eecalling  sense  and  mem'ry.    Desperately 

I  strove  to  raise  my  fallen  sire  again,  ^. 


V 


J/ 


fi 


66 


-.^im^  St 


■-  5V, 


'rt:m 


-i^^#*.  - 

'S 

^..^Sl^^'t 

_, 

^:i^^_ «-' 

iUFB  IN  THE  CLEARINGS. 

And  called  upon  my  mother ;  but  her  dye 
Was  closed  alike  to  sorrow,  want,  and  pain. 

Oh,  what  a  night  was  that !-— when  all  alone 

I  watched  my  dead  beside  the  cold  hearth-stone. 
I  thought  myself  a  monster, — ^that  the  deed 

To  save  my  mother  was  too  promptly  done. 
I  could  not  see  her  gentle  bosom  bleed, 

And  quite  forgot  the  father,  in  the  son ; 

For  her  I  moum'd — ^for  her,  through  bitter  yearSjr 
Pour'd  forth  my  soul  in  imavailing  tos,rs. 

"  The  world  approved  the  act ;  but  on  my  soul 

There  lay  a  gnawing  consciousness  of  guilt, 
A  biting  sense  of  crime,  beyond  control : 

By  my  rash  hand  a  father's  blood  was  spilt. 
And  I  abjured  for  aye  the  death-drugg'd  bowl. 

This  is  my  tale  of  woe ;  and  if  th^u  wilt 
Be  wam'd  by  me,  the  sparkling  cup  resign  ; 
A  serpent  lurks  within  the  ruby  wine. 

Guileful  and  strong  as  him  who  erst  betray'd 
The  world's  first  parents  in  their  bowers  of  joy. 

Let  not  the  tempting  draught  your  soul  pervade ; 
It  shines  to  kill  and  sparkles  to  destroy. 

The  drunkard's  sentence  has  been  sealed  above,— 

Exiled  for  ever  from  the  heaven  of  love !"       - 


■■*  •■ 


.  ^-.ii^ 


V-..-^ 


^    .' 


I'' 


^« 


':>*;'■"'#■.' 


CHAPTER  m.  :^ 

"i;  ?***?       *•  Truth,  Wisdom,  virtue— the  etema  throe, 
Great  moral  agents  of  the  univene — 
Shall  yet  reform  and  beautify  the  world, 
And  render  it  fit  residence  for  Hbn 
In  whom  these  glorious  attributes  combined 
To  render  perfect  manhood  one  with  6od !" 
.  /:■.  B.'m. 


'^m' 


>   I 


iy^.A 


Thsbii  is  no  calonlating  the  immense  benefit  which  the  colony 
will  derive  flrcm  the  present  liberal  provision  made  for  the 
education  of  the  rising  generation.  ^*' 


UF9  IN  THB  OLBABINO^ 


A  few  years  ago  schools  were  so  far  aparfc,  and  the  tuition  of 
children  so  expensive,  that  none  but  the  very  better  class  corld 
scrape  money  enough  together  to  send  their  children  to  be 
instructed.  Under  the  present  system,  every  idle  ragged  child 
in  the  streets,  by  washing  his  face  and  hands,  and  presenting 
himself  to  the  free  school  of  his  ward,  can  receive  the  same 
benefit  as  the  rest. 

What  an  inestimable  blessing  is  this,  and  how  greatly  will  this 
education  of  her  population  tend  to  increase  the  wealth  and  pros- 
perity of  the  province  I  It  is  a  certain  means  of  calling  out  and 
making  available  all  the  talent  in  the  colony ;  and  as,  thanks  be 
to.  God,  genius  never  was  confined  to  any  class,  the  poor  will  be 
more  benefited  by  this  wise  and  munificent  arrangement  than 
the  rich. 

These  schools  are  supported  by  a  district  tax,  which  falls  npon 
the  property  of  persons  well  able  to  pay  it;  but  avarice  and 
bigotry  are  already  at  work,  to  endeavour  to  deprive  the  young 
of  this  new-found  blessing.  Persons  grumble  at  having  to  pay 
this  additional  tax.  They  say,  "If  poor  people  want  their 
children  taught,  let  them  pay  for  it :  their  instruction  has  no 
right  to  be  forced  from  our  earnings." 

What  a  narrow  prejudice  is  this — ^what  miserable,  short- 
sighted ])olicy  I  The  t>ducation  of  these  neglected  children,  by 
making  them  better  citizens,  will  in  the  long  run  prove  a  great 
protection  both  to  life  and  property. 

Then  the  priests  of  different  persuasions  lilt  up  their  voice? 
because  no  particular  creed  is  allowed  to  be  taught  in  the 
seminaries,  and  exclaim — "  The  children  will  be  infidels.  These 
schools  are  godless  and  immoral  in  the  extreme."  Yes ;  children 
will  be  taught  to  love  each  other  without  any  such  paltry  dis- 
tinctions as  party  and  creed.  The  rich  and  the  poor  will  meet 
together  to  learn  the  sweet  courtesies  of  a  common  humanity, 
and  prejudice  and  avarice  and  bigotry  cannot  bear  that. 

There  is  a  spirit  abroad  in  the  world — and  an  evil  spirit  it  is — 
which  through  all  rges  has  instigated  the  rich  to  look  down  with 
contemptuous  feelings  of  superiority  on  the  humble  occupations 
and  inferior  circumstances  of  the  poor.  Now,  that  this  spirit  is 
diametrically  opposed  to  the  benevolent  precepts  of  Christianity, 


/ 


m 


tliPB  IN  THB   OLKARINGH. 


s 


the  foot  of  our  blessed  Lord  performing  his  painful  mission  on 
earth  in  no  higher  oapftdty  than  that  of  a  working  mechanic, 
onght  si^oiently  to  show.  What  divine  benevolence— ^hat 
god-like  homiliiy  was  displayed  in  this  heroic  actl  Of  all  the 
wonderful  events  in  his  wonderftd  history,  is  there  one  more 
astonishing  than  this — 

"Thttt  Heftven's  high  Mi^esiy  hit  eoart  shoidd  keep 
b  a  olay.  cottage,  by  eadi  blait  o(mtroU'd,--»  -^ 

That  Gloiy  itself  should  serve  our  hopes  and  fears, 
And  free  Eternity  submit  to  years  7" 

What  ft  noHe  tiinmph  was  this,  over  the  orael  and  msjost 
prejndi^ses  of  mankind!  it  might  trniy  be  termed  the  divine 
philosophy  of  virtne.  This  condescension  on  the  part  of  the 
great  Creator  of  the  universe,  onght  to  have  been  sufficient  to 
have  rendered  labomr  honourable  in  the  minds  of  his  followers; 
and  we  still  indulge  the  hope,  that  the  moral  and  intellectual 
improviiment  of  mtmkind  will  one  day  restore  labour  to  her 
fvoper  pedestal  in  the  temple  of  virtue. 

Hie  chosen  disciples  of  our  (Sreat  Master— those  to  whom  he 
entrusted  the  precious  code  of  moral  laws  that  was  destined  to 
overthrow  the  kingdom  of  Satan,  and  refoicm  a  degraded  world — 
were  poOT  i.ncduoated  men.  The  most  IrUiiant  gems  are  often 
enclosed  in  the  rudest  incrustations;  and  He  who  formed  the 
bodies  and  souls  of  men,  well  knew  that  the  most  powetfhl 
intellects  are  often  concealed  amidst  the  darkness  and  rubbish  of 
uneducated  minds.  Sudi  minds,  enlightened  and  purified  by  his 
wonder-working  Spirit,  He  sent  forth  to  publish  his  message  of 
0ad  tidings  through  the  earth. 

The  want  of  education  and  moral  tndning  is  the  only  real 
barrier  t'  at  e/dsts  between  the  different  classes  of  men.  Nature, 
reason,  and  Christianity,  recognise  no  other.  Pride  may  say 
nay ;  but  pride  was  always  a  liar,  and  a  great  hater  of  the  truth. 
Wealth,  in  a  hard,  abstract  point  of  view,  can  never  make  an^. 
Take  away  the  wealth  from  an  ignorant  man,  and  he  remains 
just  the  same  being  he  was  before  he  possessed  it,  and  is  no  way 
bett^c^  from  ths  mere  circumstance  of  his  having  onee  becu 
rich.    But  let  that  wealth  procure  for  him  the  only  true  and 


Lira  IN  TBK   CIJBABIN«B. 


I  and 


imperishable  rieheft— ^cnowledge,  and  with  it  the  power  .to  do 
good  to  himself  and  others,  which  is  the  great  aid  of  moral  and 
religions  trainiiig^-«nd  a  mighty  stmotnre  is  raised  which  death 
itself  is  nnable  to  destroy*  1^  man  has  indeed  dianged  his 
nature,  and  it  &st  regaining  the  resemblanoe  he  <»iee  hore  to 
hisOreator. 

The  soul  of  man  is  of  no  rank,  sex,  or  cqlonr.  It  claims  a  dis- 
tinction far  above  all  these;  and  shall  we  behold  its  glorious 
energies  imprisoned  in  the  obscene  den  of  ignorance  and  want, 
without  making  the  least  effort  to  enli^^t^i  its  hideous  dark- 
ness? 

It  is  painful  to  reflect  upon  the  vast  barrrat  wilderness-  of 
human  intelleot  which  on  every  side  stretohdP^  around  us — ^to 
know  that  thousands  of  powerful  nunds  are  condemned  by  the 
hopeless  d^radation  of  their  circumstances  to  struggle  cm  in 
obscurity,  without  one  gleam  of  light.  What  a  high  and  noble 
pririlegf^  has  the  Almighty  conferred  upon  the  wealthy  and  well- 
educated  portion  of  mankind,  in  giving  them  the  means  of  re- 
claiming and  cultivating  those  barren  minds,  and  of  lifting  them 
from  the  mire  of  ignorance  in  which  they  at  present  wallow,  to 
share^with  them  tite  moral  dignity  of  thinking  ment 

A  small  portion  of  the  wealth  that  is  at  present  bestowed  upon 
mere  articles  of  luxury,  or  in  scenes  of  riot  and  dissipation,  would 
more  than  effect  this  great  purpose.  The  educaHon  of  the  poorer 
classes  must  add  greatly  to  the  well-being  and  happiness  of  the 
world,  and  tend  to  diminish  the  awful  amount  of  crimes  and 
misery,  which  up  to  the  present  moment  has  rendered  it  a  valo 
of  tears. 

The  ignorance  of  the  masses  must,  while  it  remains,  f(H*  ever 
separate  them  from  their  more  fortunate  brethren.  Remove  this 
stumbling  block  out  of  the  way,  and  the  hard  line  of  demarcation 
which  now  divides  them  will  soften,  and  gradually  melt  away. 
Their  supposed  inferiority  lies  in  their  situation  alone.  Turn  to 
the  history  of  those  great  men  whom  education  has  rescued  from 
the  very  lowest  walks  of  life,  and  you  will  find  a  mighty  host, 
who  were  in  their  age  and  day  the  companions,  the  advisers,  the 
fiiends  of  princes — men  who  have  written  their  names  with  the 
pen  and  the  sword  upon  the  pillars  of  time,  and,  if  immortality 


IP 


UFB   XM   TBS   OLBARIMOS. 


oan  dzist  in  a  world  of  oonstanfc  change,  have  been  rendered 
iram^Ptal  by  their  words  or  deeds. 

Let  poverty  and  bigotry  do  their  utmost  to  Iceep  snoh  spiritsf 
while  Uving,  in  the  shades  of  obscurity,  death,  the  great  equalizer^ 
always  restores  to  its  possessors  the  rights  of  mind,  and  bids  them 
triamph  for  ever  over  the  low  prejudices  of  their  ffeUow-men, 
who,  when  reading  the  works  of  Burns,  or  gazing  on  the  paint- 
ings of  Raphael,  reproach  them  with  the  lowliness  of  their 
origin;  yea,  the  proudest  who  have  taste  to  appreciate  their 
glorious  creations,  rejoice  that  genius  could  thus  triumph  over 
temporary  obstacles. 

If  has  often  been  asserted  by  the  rich  and  nobly-born,  that  if 
the  poorer  olaaaHi  were  as  well  educated  as  themselves,  it  would 
render  them  familiar  and  presumptuous,  and  they  would  no 
longer  pay  to  their  superiors  in  station  that  deference  which 
must  exist  for  the  well-being  of  society.  "We  view  the  subject 
witli  far  other  eyes,  and  conclude  from  analogy,  that  that  which 
hm  conferred  such  incalculable  benefits  on  the  rich,  and  helped 
maioly  to  place  them  in  the  position  they  now  hold,  could  not  be 
detrimental  to  the  poor.  The  man  who  knows  his  duty,  is  more 
likely  to  perform  it  well  than  the  ignorant  man,  whose  services 
are  compulsory,  and  whose  actions  are  influenced  by  the  moral- 
responsibility  which  a  right  knowledge  must  ^ve. 

My  earnest  wish  for  universal  education  involves  no  dislike  to 
roy^  rule,  or  for  those  distinctions  of  birth  and  wealth  which  1 
consider  necessary  for  the  well-being  of  society.  It  little  matters 
by  what  name  we  call  them;  men  of  talent  and  education  will 
exert  a  certain  influence  over  the  minds  of  their  fellow-men, 
which  will  always  be  felt  and  acknowledged  in  the  world  if 
mankind  were  equalized  to-morrow.  Perfect,  unadulterfitod 
republicanism,  is  a  beautiful  but  fallacious  chimera  which  ne-verf 
has  existed  upon  the  earth,  and  which,  if  the  Bible  be  true,  (ard 
we  htive  no  doubts  on  the  subject,)  we  are  told  never  wiU  exist 
in  heaven.  Still  we  cmisider  that  it  would  be  true  wisdom  and> 
policy  in  those  who  possess  a  large  share  of  the  good  things  of 
this  world,  to  make  labour  honourable,  by  exalting  the  poor 
operative  into  an  intelligent  moral  agent.  Surely  it  is  no  "mall 
privil^;8  to  be  able  to  bind  up  bis  bruised  and  broken  heart— to 


.ii 


"4-r--/\\» 


UVJI  IK  THI  OLKARIKae. 


n 


M 


wipQ  the  dost  from  his  1»:qw,  and  Uie  tears  fhun  his  eyes — ^and 
bid  him  onoe  more  stand  erect  in  his  Maker^s  image.  This  is, 
indeed,  to  become  the  benefactor  both  of  his  soul  and  body ;  ^or 
the  mind,  onoe  convinced  of  its  own  real  worth  and  nati^  e  dig- 
nity, is  less  prone  to  fall  into  low  and  degrading  vices,  than  when 
struggling  with  ignorance  and  the  galling  chfiin  of  despised 
poverty. 

It  is  impossible  for  the  most  depraved  votary  of  wealth  and 
fasbfon  really  to  despise  a  poor,  honest,  well-informed  man. 
There  is  an  aristooracy  of  virtue  as  well  as  of  wealth  ;  and  the 
rich  man  who  dares  to  cast  undeserved  contempt  upon  his  poor, 
but  high-minded  brother,  hears  a  voice  withiii  him  which,  in 
tones  which  cannot  be  misunderstood,  reproves  him  for  blasphe- 
ming his  Maker's  iraage.  A  glorious  mission  is  conferred  on  you 
who  are  rirH  and  nobly  born,  which,  if  wpU  and  con^iciontiously 
performed,  will  make  the  glad  arch  of  heaven  ring  with  songs  of 
joy.  Nor  deem  that  you  will  be  worse  served  because  your  ser- 
vant is  a  religious,  well-educated  man,  or  that  you  will  be  treated 
with  less  respect  and  attention  by  one  who  knows  that  your 
station  entitles  you  to  it,  than  by  the  rude,  ignorant  slave,  who 
hates  you  in  his  heart,  and  performs  his  appointed  services,  with 
an  envious,  discontented  spirit. 

When  we  consider  that  ignorance  is  the  ftnitfid  parent  of 
crime,  we  should  unite  with  heart  and  voice  to  banish  it  from 
the  earth.  We  should  devote  what  meand  we  can  spare,  and 
the  talents  with  which  God  has  endowed  us,  in  furthering  every 
national  and  benevolent  institution  set  on  foot  for  this  purpoiiC ; 
and  though  the  progress  of  improvement  may  at  first  appear 
slow,  tliis  snould  not  discourage  any  one  f  vm  endeavoring  to 
effect  a  great  and  noble- purpose.  Many  months  must  intervene, 
after  sowing  i,iie  crop,  before  the  husbandman  can  expect  to  reap 
the  harvest.  The  winter  snows  must  cover,  the  spring  rains 
vivify  and  nourish,  and  the  summer  sun  ripen,  before  the  autumn 
arrives,  for  the  ingatLwimg  of  his  labour,  and  then  the  increase, 
after  all  his  toil  and  watching,  must  i  with  God. 
^  Dmiiig  the  time  of  our  blepsed  Lord's  sojourn  upon  caA^ ,  he 
proclaimed  the  harvest  to  be  plenteous  and  tlie  labourers  few  •, 
and  u6  instructed  his  disciples  to  pray  to  the  Lord  of  the  harvest 


ef-i 


-ya 


n 


LIFB   XM  THE   OLKARINOS. 


fn'i  ;«end  more  lalonrers  into  the  field.  Does  it  not,  therefore, 
bf  hoTe  those  who  live  in  a  more  enlightened  age — when  the 
crnth  of  the  Gospel,  T/hich  he  sealed  with  hin  blood,  has  been 
preaciied  in  almost  every  country — to  pray  tlii;  Father  of  Spirits 
to  proportion  tl'O  labourers  to  the  wants  of.  hig  pftople,  bo  tli<>.t 
Ohriffdan  l<:!ndnei^<!,  brotherly  love,  and  mort^  inii  «'veuicafc,ina;' 
go  hand  hi  hand.,  and  keep  puoe  w  h  incoi'iiing  '».t«,!V'. '^  «.ua 
sdentifi'?  knowled,ge  t  "  ^ '       « 

A  new  coontry  like  Oanada  t'lnnot  ^iJne  thf  education  of  her 
people  too  highly.  Tbo  devtsloi  raent  of  all  the  talent  within  the 
province  will  in  the  end  prove  her  real  worth,  for  f'-cm  this 
source  over^  blessing  &r.d  imprcvameat  uiiifct  tlow.  The  i^teat- 
nof>,«t  of  a  nadon  can  more  truly  be  e8t;mi'r.e(I  by  tho  t  (loci  aiid 
iak'iligOBce  af  her  people,  than  by  ti«)  mere  aii.^^iint  of  specie 
»h ;  li-a;?  '  L-sess  !>.!.  her  treasury.  The  money,  undw  the  bad 
manfi^'^niei't  (>f  jguorant  rulers,  would  add  but  little  to  the  well- 
IMng  uf  the  commuuity,  while  the  intelligence  which  could 
.'r>al e  a  smaller  f;am  available  in  contributing  to  the  general  good, 
is  in  iis^alf  an  inexha\istible  mine  of  wealth 

If  a  few  enlightened  minds  are  able  tc  t)dd  so  much  strength 
and  Importance  to  the  country  to  which  thv?  j  belong,  how  much 
greater  must  that  country  become  if  a!l  her  people  possessed  this 
intelligence!  How  impossible  it  would  be  to  conquer  a  country, 
if  she  could  rely  upon  the  united  wisdom  of  an  educated  people 
to  assist  her  in  her  hour  of  need !  The  force  of  anns  could  never 
subdue  a  nation  thus  held  together  by  the  strong  hands  of  intel- 
lectaal  feHowship. 

To  the  wisdom  of  her  educated  men,  Britain  owes  the  present 
position  she  holds  among  the  nations.  The  power  of  mind  has 
subdued  all  the  natural  obstacles  that  impeded  her  coarse, 
and  has  placed  her  above  all  her  compciitors.  She  did  not  owe 
her  greatness  to  extent  of  territory.  Look  at  the  position  she 
occupies  upon  the  map — a  mere  speck,  when  compared  with 
several  European  nations.  It  was  not  to  her  superior  couraee, 
great  as  that  is  acknowledged  to  be;  the  T  .anch,  the  Germaiis, 
the  Spaniards;  are  as  brave,  as  far  as  me:  urage  is  concerned, 
are  as  r<""^y  to  attack  and  as  slow  to  ,T?'3  .ts  the  lion-hearted 
king  hir  c  "     No,  it  is  to  the  vii»  :  "       wer  of  her  educated 


UVB  IN   TH£  0LBARIN08. 


IS 


^  1  m  froir  any  co 

hearted  H  ^      i.-      -i. 

ttucatea  m  .  »  --   » 

-1 . 


classei}  that  she  owes  her  aaperiority.  It  is  more  diffioalt  to  over- 
oome  mind  than  matter.  To  contend  with  the  former,  ia  to 
contehd  with  God  himself,  for  all  troe  knowled|;e  is  derived  from 
him ;  to  contend  with  the  latter,  is  to  fight  with  -tiie  grosser  ele- 
ments of  the  earth,  which,  being  oorruptiUe  in  their  nature,  are 
more  eadly  overcome.  From  her  edneated  men  have  sprang  aH 
those  wcmderfid  discoveries  in  sei<moe,  which  have  extended  the 
commerce  of  Great  Britain,  enlarged  her  capacity  for  usefoiness, 
and  rendered  her  the  general  benefactress  of  mankind. 

If  edooation  has  aooomphahed  these  miracles — ^for  they  would 
have  been  regarded  as  snch  in  a  more  remote  period  of  the  world  V 
history — ^think  of  what  importance  it  is  to  Oanada  to  bestow  this 
inestimable  gift  upon  her  children. 

Yet  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  the  sons  of  the  poor  emigrant 
wasting  their  valuable  time  in  acquiring  Latin  and  Greek.  A 
man  may  be  highly  educated,  may  possess  tibe  most  lof^y  and 
comprehensive  mind,  without  knowing  one  syllable  of  either.^ 
The  beet  years  of  a  boy's  life  are  often  thrown  away  in  acquiring 
the  Latin  langut^,  which  often  proves  of  little  use  to  him  ia 
after  life,  and  which,  for  the  want  of  practice,  becomes  to^im  a 
dead  lettw,  as  well  as  a  dead  language.  Let  the  boy  be  taught  to 
think,  to  know  the  meiming  thoroughly  of  what  he  learns,  audy 
by  the  right  use  of  his  reflective  faculties,  be  enabled  to  com- 
municate the  knowledge  thus  acquired  to  others.  A  compre- 
hensive knowledge  of  the  arts  and  sciences,  of  history,  geography, 
chemistry,  and  mathematics,  together  with  a  deep  and  unbigoted 
belief  in  the  great  truths  of  Ghristianity,  would  render  a  man  oi* 
woman  a  highly  intellectual  and  rational  companion,  without 
going  beyond  the  pale  of  plain  Euglish. — "  Light !  give  me  more 
light  1 "  were  the  dying  words  of  GoSthe ;  and  this  should  be  tJie 
constant  prayer  of  all,  rational  souls  to  the  Father  of  light.  More 
crimes  are  committed  through  ignorance  than  throi^h  the  influ- 
ence of  bad  and  malignant  passions.  An  ignorant  man  is 
incflpabk  o"  jndging  cgrreotiy,  however  ansdous  he  may  be  to  do 
30.  Me  grr/pes  in  the  dark  like  a  blind  man ;  and  if  he  should" 
happen  to  t  -imble  on  the  right  path,  it  is  more  by  accident  than 
fron?  any  conect  idea  which  has  been  formed  in  his  mind 


*>■ 


'':;^'*%***^^?v^- 


/ 


/       I 


u 


van  nr  thb  OLSARiiras. 


i 


The  mind  which  onoe  begins  to  feel  a  reliah  for  acquiring 
Icnowledge  is  not  easily  satisfied.  The  more  it  knows,  the  less  it 
thinks  of  its  own  acquirements,  and  the  more  anzions  it  becomes 
to  an ',  ve  at  the  truth ;  and  finding  that  perfection  is  not  a  growth 
of  earth,  it  carriesits  earnest  longings  beyond  this  world,  and  seeks 
it  in  communion  with  the  Deity.  If  the  young  could  onoe  be 
fhlly  persuaded  that  there  was  no  disgrace  in  labour,  in  honest, 
honourable  poverty,  but  a  deep  fuid  lasting  disgrace  in  ignorance 
and  immorality,  thdr  education  would  be  conducted  on  the 
most  eidi^tened  pkm,  and  produce  the  most  beneficial  re- 
sults. 

The  poor  man  who  could  have  recourse  to  a  book  for  amuse- 
ment, instead  of  wasting  a  leisure  hour  in  the  bar-room  of  a 
tavern,  would  be  more  likely  to  -oromote  the  comfort  and 
respectability  of  his  family.  Why  should  the  labourer  be 
debarred  from  sharing  with  the  rich  the  great  world  of  the  past, 
and  be  able  to  rank  amongst  his  best  friends  the  distinguished 
men  of  all  oree^'^s  and  countries,  and  to  feel  iov  these  dead 
worthies  (who,  thanks  to  the  immortal  art  of  printing,  still  live 
in  their  work j)  the  warmest  gratitude  and  admiration?  The 
very  mention  of  some  names  awaken  in  the  mind  the  most  lively 
emotion.  We  recall  their  beautiM  thoughts  to  memory,  and 
repeat  thmn  with  as  much  earnestness  as  thoug.\  the  dead  spake 
again  through  cur  lips. 

Of  all  the  heaven-inspired  inventions  of  man,  there  are  none 
to  which  we  are  so  greatly  indebted  as  to  t'.n  art  of  printing. 
To  it  we  shall  yet  owe  the  emancipation  of  the  larger  portion  of 
mankind  from  a  state  of  mental  and  phydcal  slavery.  What 
floods  of  light  have  dawned  upon  the  world  since  that  silent 
orator,  the  press,  set  at  liberty  the  imprisoned  thoughts  of  men,, 
and  poured  the  wealth  of  mind  am  >ng  the  famishing  sons  of 
earth!  Formerly  few  could  read,  uecause  manuscript  books, 
the  labours  oi  the  pen,  were  sold  at  such  an  enormous  price  that 
only  men  of  rank  or  great  wealth  could  afford  to  purchase  th^m. 
The  peasant,  and  the  landholder  who  employed  him,  were  alike 
ignorant ;  they  eonld  not  obtain  books,  and  therefore  learning  to 
read  might  well  be  considered  in  those  dark  ages  a  waste  of  time. 
This  profound  ignorance  gave  rise  to  all  those  superstitions  which 


UFS  IN  THX  OUBAJUMOS. 


«« 


in.  the  p.*vis«nt  enlightened  age  are  regarded  with  each  astonish- 
ment by  thinkmg  minds. 

"How  oould  sensible,  good  men,  condemn  poor  old  women  to 
death  for  being  witches  f  "  was  a  question  one  asked  me  by  my 
nephew,  a  fine,  intelligent  boy,  of  eight  years  of  age. 

Kow  this  boy  had  read  a  good  deal,  yonng  as  he  was,  and 
thought  more,  and  was  wiser  in  his  day  and  generution  than 
these  same  pious  bigots.  And  why?  The  boy  had  read  the 
works  of  more  enlightened  men,  and,  making  a  right  use  of  his 
reason,  he  felt  ^nvinoed  that  these  men  were  in  error  (although 
he  had  been  bom  md  brought  up  in  the  backwoods  of  Oanada) — 
a  fact  which  the  great  Matthew  Hale  was  taught  by  bitter  expe- 
rience. 

I  have  s^d  more  on  this  subject  than  I  at  first  intended,  but  I 
feel  deeply  impressed  with  the  importance  of  it ;  and,  though  I 
confess  myself  wholly  inadequate  to  do  it  the  justice  it  deserves, 
I  hope  the  observations  I  have  made  will  attract  the  attrition  of 
my  Canadian  readers,  and  lead  them  to  study  it  more  -profoundly 
for-  themselves.  Thanks  be  to  God  1  Oanada  is  a  free  country ; 
a  land  of  plenty ;  a  land  exempt  from  paupensm,  burden  iome 
taxation,  and  all  the  ills  which  crush  and  fijuilly  sink  in  ruin 
older  communities.  "While  the  vigour  of  young  life  '*  ret  hers, 
and  she  has  before  her  the  experierice  of  all  oth<  ations,  it 
becomes  an  act  of  duty  and  real  patrioHsm  to  give  to  her  child- 
ren the  best  education  that  lies  in  her  power. 


*■'■ 

■■*■'  ■ 


4^4 -/'rt-. 


THE  POET. 

"  Who  can  read  the  Poet's  dream, 
Shadow  forth  his  glorious  theme, 
And  in  written  language  tell 
The  workings  of  the  potent  spell, 
Whose  mysterious  tones  impart 
Life  and  vigour  to  his  heart  ? 
'Tis  an  emanation  bright, 
Shooting  from  the  fount  of  light ; 
Flowing  in  upon  the  mind, 
Lik<)  sodden  daysprlng  on  the  blind ; 


Nto^iii-    i.A^Vi'' 


■^. 


UFB  IK  THB  OLBARIMOa. 

Gilding  with  inunortel  dyes 
Soenes  unknown  to  common  eyoi ; 
Berealing  to  flie  mental  sigbt 
■^taior^  of  antold  deligbt. 
•1  :s  '    .  Mj  by  Fancy  brought, 
'^liiA  jpens  np  the  world  of  thought ; 
A  sense  of  power,  a  pleasing  madness, 
A  hope  In  grief,  a  joy  in  sadness, 
A  taste  for  beauty  unalloyed, 
A  love  of  natorf»  n<»^°r  cloyed  f     ^ 
The  upwsij  ^  uuttung  oi"  a  s.  "1 
Unfettered  by  the  world's  control. 
Onward,  heavenward,  ever  tending. 
Its  essence  with  the  eternal  blending  ; 
Till,  firom  **  mortal  coil "  shook  free, 
It  slMies  the  sen^'s  ecstacy." 


?***#r*r'^«*fl^ttp- 


<^- 


■M 


■'f^-~ 


m 


CHAPTER  IV. 

**  Life  hath  its  pleaBurea,  •tern  Death  hath  its  fears, 
Joy  hath  gay  laughter,  and  Grief  bitter  tears ; 
Bcsioioe  with  the  one,  nor  shrink  from  the  other, — 
Ton  oloud  hides  the  sun,  and  death  is  life's  brother ! 
As  tlie  beam  i  o  the  day,  |o  the  shade  to  the  nighfe— 
Be  certaf*^  tha^  Heaven  orders  all  for  the  right.M 

S.  M. 


My  de.:  readc,  b^orc  ve  proceed  further  on  our  journey,  it 
may  be  "s  well  to  give  you  soine  idea  of  how  the  Oanadian  peo- 
ple in  towns  rp'^nd  their  time.  I  will  endeavour  to  describe  to 
you  the  vaixous  sources  frvtin  whence  they  di^rive  pleasure  and 
amusement. 

In  large  cities,  like  Kont>  I  and  'Toronto,  tha  higher  classes 
are  as  refined  and  int'  '^tua  as  ladifit.'  and  gentlemen  at  hom^, 
and  spend  their  lives  ch  a  the  same  manner.  Their  houses 
abound  in  all  the'elegi«acies  .^nd  luxuries  of  life,  and  to  step  into 
their  drawing-rooms  you  would  imt^ne  yourself  still  in  England. 
Thoy  drive  handsome  carriages,  and  ride  fine  spirited  horses; 


Ura   IN   THK   OLVARIirOB. 


11 


and  if  tliey  a.^  enonrabered  with  fewer  domestk)  pests  in  the 
shape  of  pampered  sorranta,  they  have,  in  this  respect,  a  decided 
advantage  orer  their  European  friends.  They  dress  well  and 
expensively,  and  are  very  particolar  to  have  their  clothes  oat  in 
the  newest  fashion.  Men  and  women  adopt  the  reigning  mode 
so  nniversally,  that  they  look  all  dressed  alike.  The  moment  a 
fashion  becomes  at  all  obsolete,  the  articles  of  dress  n  ode  to  snit 
it  are  discarded.  In  England,  a  lady  may  please  herself  in  the 
choice  of  colours,  and  in  adopting  as  mnch  of  a  fiishion  as  suits 
her  style  of  person  and  taste,  bat  in  Oanada  they  carry  this  imi- 
tation of  the  fas  Idons  of  the  day  to  extremes.  If  green  was  the 
prevailing  colonr,  every  lady  wonld  adopt  it,  whether  it  suited 
her  complexion  or  no ;  and  if  she  was  ever  so  stoat,  that  circum- 
stance woulf'  not.  prevent  her  from  wearing  half-a-dozen  more 
skirts  than  yas  necessary,  because  that  absurd  and  nnhealthy 
practice  has  for  a  long  period  prevailed.  Music  is  taught  very 
generally.  Though  very  few  attain  any  great  perfection  in  the 
science,  a  great  many  perform  well  enough  to  gratify  their 
friends,  and  contribute  to  the  enjoyment  of  a  social  evening. 
You  will  find  a  piano  in  every  wealthy  Oanadion's  house,  and 
eren  in  the  dwellings  of  most  of  the  respectable  mechanics. 

I  never  met  with  a  Oanadian  girl  who  could  not  dance,  and 
dance  well.  It  seems  bom  in  them,  and  it  is  thdr  fayourite 
amusement.  Polkas,  waltzes,  and  quadrilles,  are  the  dances  most 
approved  in  their  private  and  public  assemblies.  The  eight 
Scotch  reel  has,  however,  its  admirers,  and  most  parties  end 
with  this  lively  romping  dance. 

Balls  given  on  public  days,  such  as  the  Queen's  birthday,  and 
by  societies,  such  as  the  Freemasons',  the  Odd  Fellows',  and  the 
Bremen's,  are  oomposed  of  very  mixefi.  company,  and  the  highest 
and  lowest  are  seen  in  the  same  room.  Ilwy  generally  contrive 
to  keep  to  their  own  set — dancing  altoriiiitely — ^rarely  occupying 
the  floor  together.  It  is  surprising,  the  goodwill  and  harmony 
that  presides  in  these  mixed  assemblies.  As  long  as  they  are 
treated  vith  civility,  the  lower  classes  show  do  lack  of  courtesy 
to  the  higher.  To  be  a  spectator  at  one  of  these  public  balls  is 
very  amusing.  The  country  girls  carry  themselves  with  such  an 
easy  freedom,  that  it  is  quito  entertaiaing  to  look  at  and  listen 


.*  ~ 


r8 


Lin  IK  TBI   0LIARI5GB. 


I 


to  them.  At  a  freemasons*  ball,  some  years  ago,  a  very  amiidiif^ 
thing  took  place.  A  young  handsome  woman,  still  in  }ier  girl- 
hood,  had  bronght  her  baby,  which  she  carried  with  her  into 
the  ball-room.  'On  being  asked  to  dance,  she  was  rather  pnzxled 
what  to  do  with  the  child ;  bnt,  seeing  a  yonng  lawyer,  one  of  the 
Slits  of  tlie  town,  standing  with  fblded  arras  looking  on,  she  ran 
across  the  room,  and,  patting  the  baby  into  his  arms,  exdaimed — 
"You  are  not  dancing,  sir;  pray  hold  my  baby  for  me,  tiU  the 
next  quadrille  is  over.V  Away  she  skipped  back  to  her  partner, 
and  left  the  gentleman  overwhelmed  with  oonibsion,  While  the 
room  shook  with  peals  of  laughter.  Making  the  best  of  it,  he 
danced  the  baby  to  the  mnric,  and  kept  it  in  high  good  humour 
till  its  mother  returned. 

**  I  guess,"  she  said,  "  that  you  are  a  married  man  t " 

"  Tes,"  said  he,  returning  the  child,  "  and  a  mason." 

"Well,  I  thought  as  much  any  how,  by  tlie  way  you  acted 
with  the  baby." 

"  My  conduct  was  not  quite  free  from  selfishness — ^I  expect  a 
reward." 

"Aflhow?" 

"  That  yon  will  give  the  baby  to  your  husband,  and  dance  the 
next  set  with  me." 

"With  all  my  heart    Let  ns  go  a-head." 

If  legs  did  not  do  their  dnty,  it  was  no  fault  of  their  pretty 
owner,  for  she  danced  with  all  her  strength,  greatly  to  the 
amusement  of  her  aristocratio  partner. 

When  we  first  came  to  Belleville,  evening  parties  commenced 
at  the  primitive  and  rational  hour  of  sAx  o'clock,  bnt  now  invi- 
tations are  issued  for  eight;  the  company,  however,  seldom, 
assemble  before  nine,  and  those  who  wish  to  be  very  fashionable 
don^tmake  their  appearance  before  ten.  This  is  rather  absurd 
in  a  country,  but  Folly  as  well  as  Wisdom,  is  justified  of  her 
children.  Evening  parties  always  include  dancing  and  music, 
while  cards  are  provided  for  those  gentlemen  who  prefer  whist 
to  the  society  of  the  ladies.  The  evening  generally  closes  with 
a  splendid  supper,  in  which  there  is  no  lack  of  the  good  things 
wMch  the  season  affords.  The  ladies  are  always  served  first,  the 
gentlemen  wmUng  upon  them  at  supper;  and  they  never  sit 


'-\ 


Lira  IN  THE  OLXARINOB. 


79 


down  to  the  table,  when  tbe  oompany  is  large,  until  after  tha 
ladies  have  retnrned  to  the  drawiog-room.  This  onstom.  would 
not  be  very  agreeable  to  some  English  epionreis  bat  it  is  an  nnl- 
yersal  one  with  Oanadian  gentlemen,  whose  politeness  and  atten- 
tion to  the  other  sex  is  one  of  tbe  most  pleasing  traits  in  their 
obaraoter. 

•  The  opportunities  of  visitiitg  the  theatre  oocnr  yery  eeldom, 
and  only  can  be  enjoyed  by  those  who  reside  in  the  eitiM  of 
Canada.  The  yonng  men  of  the  plaoe  sometimes  get  up  an 
amatenr  performance,  in  whioh  they  act  the  part  of  both  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  greatly  to  the  delight  and  amusement  of  their 
audience.  I  mast  say  that  I  have  enjoyed  a  play  in  one  of  these 
private  houses  more  than  ever  I  did  at  Drury  Laoe  or  Oovent 
Garden.  The  lads  act  with  thdr  whole  hearts,  and  I  have  seen 
them  shed  real  tears  over  the  sorrows  they  were  called  upon  to 
pourtray.  They  did  not  feign— they  really  felt  the  part.  Of 
course,  there  was  little  artistic  skill,  but  a  good  deal  of  truth 
and  nature.  ,« 

In  the  summer,  riding  and  boating  parties  take  the  x^ojoe  of 
dancing.  These  are  always  regular  pio-nics,  each  party  con- 
tributing their  share  of  eatables  and  drinkables  to  tlie  general 
stock.  They  commonly  select  some  pretty  isluxd  in  the  bay,  or 
shady  retired  spot  on  the  main  land,  for  the  general  rendezvous, 
where  they  light  a  fire,  boil  their  kettles,  and  cook  their  vegetap 
bles  to  eat  with  their  cold  prog,  which  usually  consists  of  hams, 
fowls,  meat  pies,  cold  joints  of  meat,  and  abundance  of  tarts  and 
cakes,  while  the  luxury  of  ice  is  conveyed  in  a  blanket  at  the 
bottom  of  one  of  the  boats. 

.These  water  parties  are  very  delightftd.  The  ladies  stroll 
about  and  gather  wild  fruit  and  flowers,  while  the  gentlemen 
fish.  The  weather  at  that  season  of  the  year  is  sure  to  be  fine, 
and  the  water  scenery  beautiful  in  the  extreme.  Those  who 
possess  good  voices  sing,  and  the  young  folks  dance  on  the  green- 
sward. A  day  spent  thus  happily  with  nature  in  her  green 
domain^  is  one  of  pure  and  innocent  eiotjoyment.  There  is  always 
a  reunion,  in  the  evening,  of  the  party,  at  the  house  of  one  of 
the  married  ladies  who  were  present  at  the  pic-nic.  .^; 

^Jbx  A  riding  piffty,  some  place  is  sdeoted  in  the  country,  and 


80 


LIFE   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


A 


I  ' 


those  who  are  i*ivited  meet  at  a  fixed  hour  on  the  appointed 
ground.  The  Oakhill  pond,  near  the  village  of  Rawdon,  and 
abont  sixteen  miles  from  Belleville,  is  a  very  favourite  spot,  and 
is  one  of  Bingnlaar  beanty.  This  Oakhill  pond  is  a  small,  clear, 
and  vei7  deep  lake,  on  the  summit  oi  a  high  hiQ.  It  is  about 
two  miles  in  ciroumference,  and  being  almost  circular,  must 
nearly  be  as  broad  as  it  is  long.  Tho  waters  are  intensely  blue, 
tlie  back-ground  is  filled  up  with  groves  of  dark  pine,  while  the 
woods  in  front  are  composted  of  the  dwarf  oaks  and  :Srs,  which 
are  generally  found  on  these  table  lands,  interspersed  with  low 
bushes — ^the  sandy  soil  abounding  with  every  Canadian  variety 
of  wild  fruits  and  flowers.  j 

There  is  an  excellent  plank  road  all  the  way  from  Belleville  to 
Bawdon.  The  Oakhills  lie  a  little  to  the  left,  and  you  approach 
them  by  a  very  steep  ascent,  from  the  summit  of  which  yon 
obtain  as  fine  a  pn^spect  as  I  have  seen  in  this  part  of  Canada. 
A  vast  country  lies  stretched  beneath  your  feet,  and  you  look 
down  upon  an  immense  forest,  whose  tree-tops,  moved  by  the 
wind,  cause  it  to  undulate  like  a  green  ocean.  From  this  spot 
you  may  trace  the  four  windings  of  the  bay,  to  its  junction  with 
the  blae  waters  of  the  Ontario.  The  last  time  I  gazed  from  the 
top  of  this  hill  a  thunder-storm  was  frowning  over  the  woods, 
and  the  dense  black  clouds  gave  an  awfiil  grandeur  to  the  noble 
picture.  -  #'- 

jl  The  village  of  Bawdon  lies  on  the  other  side  of  this  table  land, 
quite  in  a  valley.  A  bright,  brisk  little  stream  runs  through  it, 
and  turns  several  large  mills.  It  is  a  very  pretty  rural  place, 
and  is  fast  rising  towards  the  dignity  of  a  town.  When  we  first 
oama  to  Belleville,  the  spot  on  which  Bawdon  now  stands  be- 
longed principally,  if  not  altogether,  to  an  enterprising  Orkney 
man,  Edward  Fidlar,  Esq.,  to  whose  energy  and  industry  it 
mainlj-  owes  its  existence.  Mr.  Fidlar  might  truly  be  termed  the 
father  of  the  village.  A  witty  friend  suggested,  that  instead  of 
Bawdon,  it  ought  more  properly  to  be  called  "Fidlars  Green," 

Thero  is  a  clean  little  country  inn  just  at  the  foot  of  tho  long 
hill  leading  to  the  Oakhill  pond,  kept  by  a  respectable  widow- 
woman  of  the  name  of  Fairman.  If  the  pic-nio  party  does  not 
wish  to  be  troubled  with  carrying  baskets  of  provisiors  so  far. 


UTB  IN  THE  OLKARINOB. 


81 


tTieysend  word  to  Mrs.  Fairman  the  day  previous,  to 
dinner  for  so  many  guests.  TWs  she  always  does  in  the  best  pos- 
sible country  style,  at  the  moderate  charge  of  half-a-dollar  per 
head. 

'A  dinner  in  the  country  in  Oanada,  taken  at  the  house  of  some 
snbstantial  yeoman,  is  a  very  different  affair  firom  a  dinner  in  the 
town.  The  table  literally  groans  with  good  cheer ;  and  you  can- 
not offer  a  greater  affront  to  you  hostess,  than  to  eat  sparingly 
of  the  dainties  set  before  you.  " 

They  like  to  have  several  days*  warning  of  your  intended  visit;,* 
that  they  may  go  "  to  trouble^"  as  they  most  truly  term  mak- 
ing such  magnificent  preparations  for  a  few  guests.  I  have  sat 
down  to  a  table  of  this  kind  in  the  country,  with  only  Mr.  JS.r 
and  myself  as  guests,  and  we  have  been  served  with  a  dinner  that 
would  have  amply  fed  twenty  people.  Fowls  of  several  sorts, 
ham,  and  joints  of  roast  and  boiled  meat,  besides  quantities  of 
pies,  puddings,  custards,  and  cakes.  Oheese  is  invariably  offered 
to  you  with  apple  pie ;  and  several  little  glass  dishes  are  ranged 
round  your  plate,  for  preserves,  honey,  and  apple  sauce,  which  lat- 
ter dainty  is  never  wanting  in  a  country  feast,  l^e  mistress  of  the 
house  constantly  presses  you  to  partake  of  all  these  things,  and 
sometimes  the  accumulation  of  rich  food  on  one  plate,  whick 
it  is  impossible  for  you  to  consume,  is  everything  but  agreeable. 

Two  ladies,  frienJs  of  mine,  went  to  spend  the  day  at  one  of 
these  too  hospitable  entertainers.  The  weather  was  intensely  hot. 
They  had  driven  a  long  way  in  the  sun,  and  both  ladies  had  a 
headache,  and  vrry  little  appetite  in  consequence.  The  mistrass 
of  the  house  went  "  to  trouble,^^  and  prepared  a  great  feast  for 
her  guests ;  but,  finding  that  they  partook  very  sparingly  of  bar 
good  cheer,  her  pride  was  greatly  hurt,  and  rising  suddenly  from 
her  seat,  and  turning  to  them  with  a  stern  brow,  she  exclaimed, — 
"  I  should  like  to  know  what  ails  my  victuals,  that  you  don't 
choose  to  eat." 

The  poor  ladies  explained  the  reason  of  their  appetites  having 
failed  them ;  but  they  found  it  a  difficult  matter  to  soothe  their 
irritated  hostess,  who  declared  that  she  would  never  go  *^  to  trou- 
lU  "  for  them  again.  It  is  of  no  use  of  arguing  against  this  amia- 
ble weakness,  for  as  eating  to  uneducated  people  is  one  of  greatest 


4* 


.£(.»»    ,;Wi=a- 


?.'-??V 


82 


LirS  IN  THK  OLBABIKOS. 


V 


! 


eii^joyments  of  life,  they  cannot  imagine  h0t7  they  oonld  make 
yon  more  comfortable,  by  offering  yon  less  food,  and  of  a  more 
ample  kind.  'i^ 

Large  farmers  in  an  old  cleared  country  live  remarkably  well, 
and  ei\joy  within  thenselv^  all  the  snbstantial  comforts  of  life. 
Many  of  them  keep  carriages,  and  drive  splendid  horses.  The 
contrast  between  the  pork  and  potato  diet  (and  sometimes  of 
potatoes  alone  without  the  pork),  in  the  backwoods,  is  really 
striking.  Before  a  gentleman  from  the  old  country  oondudes  to 
settle  in  the  bush,  let  him  first  visit  these  comfortable  abodes  of 
peace  and  plenty.  -/^h 

The  Hon.  B.  B ,  when  canvassing  the  county,  paid  a  roina 

of  visits  to  his  principal  political  supporters,  and  they  literally 
almost  killed  him  with  kindness.    Every  hoase  provided  a  feast 
in  honour,  of  their  distinguished  guest,  and  he  was  obliged  to  eat 
at  all. 
-^  Ooming  to  spend  a  quiet  evening  at  our  house,  the  first  words 

fie  uttered  were, — ^'*  If  you  have  any  regard  for  me  Mrs.  M , 

pray  don't  ask  me  to  eat.    I  am  sick  of  the  sight  of  food." 

I  can  well  imagine  the  amount  of  "  trovible  "  each  good  wife 
had  taken  upon  herself  on  this  great  occasion. 
K  One  of  the  most  popular  public  exhibitions  is  the  circus,  a  sort 
of  travelling  Astley's  theatre,  which  belongs  to  a  compaity  in 
New  York.  This  show  visits  all  the  large  towns  once  during  the 
summer  season.  The  performance  consists  of  feats  of  horseir  an- 
ship,  gymnastics,  dancing  on  the  tight  and  dack  rope,  and  won- 
derful feats  of  agility  and  strength ;  and  to  those  who  have  taste 
and  nerve  enough  to  admire  such  sights,  it  possesses  great  at- 
tractions. The  company  is  a  large  one,  often  exceeding  forty 
persons ;  it  is  provided  with  good  performers,  and  an  excellent 
brass  band.  The  arrival  of  the  circus  is  commonly  announoed 
several  weeks  before  it  makes  its  actual  ent^^^  in  the  public 
papers ;  and  large  handbills  are  posted  up  in  the  t&verns,  con- 
taining coarse  wooJouts  of  the  most  exciting  scenes  in  the  per- 
form'^ce.  These  ugly  pictures  draw  around  thom  crowds  of  little 
boys,  who  know  the  whole  of  the  programme  by  heart,  long  before 
the  cu'avans  containing  the  tents  ani!  scenery  anive.  Hundreds 
of  these  little  dhaps  are  up  before  day-break  on  the  expected 


LIFE  IN  THB  CLEARINGS. 


sa 


morniDg  of  the  show,  and  walk  out  to  Shannonville,  a  distance 
of  nine  miles,  to  meet  it. 

i  However  the  fSwrners  may  grumble  over  bad  times  and  low 
prices,  the  circus  never  lacks  its  quantum  of  visitors ;  and  there 
are  plenty  of  half-dollars  to  be  had  to  pay  for  tickets  for  them- 
selves and  their  families. 

The  Indians  are  particularly  fond  of  this  exhibition,  and  the 
town  is  always  full  of  them  the  day  the  circus  comes  in. 
'  A  large  tent  is  pitched  on  the  open  space  between  the  Scotch 
church  and  the  old  hospital,  big  enough  to  contain  at  least  a 
thousand  people,  besides  a  wide  area  for  the  performance  and 
the  pit.  An  amphitheatre  of  seats  rises  tier  above  tier,  to  within 
a  few  feet  of  the  eves  of  the  tent,  for  the  accommodation  of  the 
spectators ;  and  the  whole  space  is  lighted  by  a  large  chandelier, 
composed  of  tin  holders,  Med  with  very  bad,  greasy,  tallow 
candles,  that  in  the  close  crowded  place  emit  a  very  disagreeable 
odor.       ...  x»-- ,■  i       '   ■  ,         t 

The  show  of  horses  and  the  feats  of  horsemanship  are  always 
well  worth  seeing,  ut  the  rest  grows  very  tiresome  on  frequent 
repetition.  Person^,  must  be  very  fond  of  this  sort  of  thing  who 
can  twice  visit  the  circus,  as  year  after  year  the  clown  repeats 
the  same  stale  jests,  and  shows  up  the  same  style  of  per- 
formers. '4 
,  The  last  time  I  went,  in  order  to  please  my  youngest  son,  I  was 
more  amused  by  the  antics  of  a  man  who  carried  about  bull's- 
eyes  and  lemonade,  than  by  any  of  the  actors.  Whenever  he 
offered  his  tray  of  3we(:its  to  the  ladies,  it  was  with  an  affectedly 
graceful  bend ;  and  throwing  into  his  voice  the  utmost  persua- 
sion, he  contrived  to  glance  down  on  the  bull's-eyes  with  half  an 
eye,  and  to  gaze  up  at  the  ladies  he  addressed  with  all  that  re- 
mained of  the  powers  of  vision,  exclaiming,  with  his  hand  on  his 
heart, — "  How  sweet  they  a-r-e!"  combining  a  recommendation 
of  his  bull's-eyes  with  a  compliment  to  tiie  fair  sex. 

The  show  opens  at  two  o'clock,  p.m.,  and  again  at  half-past 
seven  in  the  evening.  The  people  from  a  distance,  and  the  young 
children,  visit  the  exciting  scene  during  the  day;  the  town's- 
people  at  night,  as  it  i»  less  crowded,  cooler,  and  the  company 
more  select.    Persons  of  all  ranks  are  there;  and  the  variety  of 

■r«--       ,■    •--        ■'■       ■.•.■..•--.  ..•>■  ..,.    V    ,       .■■;  ■    -5,    ,:  :■-„■    .r-V'^  Wi~3  .-:r;.- r«.    Ti*ir- ;    ;.  .:- 


w 


\l^ 


84  '  LIFE    IN   THE   CLEARINGS.  ' 

&^  and  ciiftraoterB  that  nature  exhibits  gratis,  are  far  more 
amusing  to  watch  than  the  feats  of  the  Athletes. 

Then  there  Is  Barnham's  travelling  menagerie  of  wild  animals, 
and  of  tame  darkie  melodists,  who  occupy  a  tent  by  themselves, 
,  *and  a  white  nigger  whom  the  boys  look  upon  with  the  same  won- 
der they  would  do  at  a  white  rat  or  mouse.  Everybody  goes 
to  aee  the  wild  beasts,  and  to  poke  fun  at  the  elephants.  One  ' 
man  who,  born  and  brought  up  in  the  backwoods,  had  never 
seen  an  elephant  before,  nor  even  a  picture  of  one,  ran  halt- 
frightened  home  to  his  master,  exclaiming  as  he  bolted  into  the 
room,  ^  Oh,  sir!  sir !  you  must  let  thii  cl'Vler  go  to  the  muiye- 
ry.  Shure  there's  six  huge  critters  to  be  seen,  v'th  no  eyes,  and 
a  tml  before  and  behind." 

The  celebrated  General  Tom  Thumb  paid  the  town  a  visit  last 
summer.  His  presence  was  hailed  witli  enthusiastic  delight,  and 
people  crowded  from  the  most  remote  settlements  to  gaze  upon 
the  tiny  man.  One  poor  Irishwoman  insisted  "  that  he  was  not 
a  human  crathur,  but  a  fairy  changeling,  and  that  he  would  van- 
ish away  some  day,  and  never  be  heard  of  again."  Signer  Blitz, 
the  great  conjuror,  ocoasionaily  pays  us  a  visit,  but  his  visits  are 
like  angel  visits,  few  and  far  between.  His  performance  never 
fails  in  filling  the  large  room  in  the  court-house  for  several  suc- 
cessive nights,  and  his  own  purse.  Then  we  have  lecturers  from 
the  United  States  on  all  subjects,  who  commonly  content  them- 
selves with  hiring  the  room  belonging  to  the  Mechanics'  Institute, 
where  they  hold  fdrth,  foi  the  moderate  'mm.  of  a  York  shilling 
a  head,  on  mesmerism,  phrenology,  biology,  phonography,  spir- 
itual communications,  &o. 

These  wandering  lectures  are  often  very  well  attended,  and 
their  performance  is  highly  entertaining.  Imagine  a  tall,  thin, 
bearded  American,  exhibiting  himself  at  a  small  wooden  desk 
between  two  dingy  tallow  candles,  and  holding  forth  in  the 
genuine  nasal  twang  on  these  half-supernatural  sciences  on  which 
so  much  13  advanced,  and  of  which  so  little  is  at  present  under- 
stood. Oar  lecturer,  however,  expresses  no  doubts  upcix  the 
subject  of  which  he  treats.  He  proves  on  the  poi'sons  of  bis 
audience  the  truth  of  phrenology,  biology,  and  mesmerism,  and 
^  the  individuals  he  pitches  apon  to  illustrate  his  facts  perform 


...»!*.• 


UFK   IN   THK   CLEARINGS. 


86 


IV. 


their  parts  remarkably  well,  and  often  leave  the  spectators  in  a 
maze  of  donbt,  astonisLment  and  admiration. 

I  remember,  about  three  yeai's  ago,  going  with  my  hnsband  to 
hear  the  lectures  of  a  person  who  called  himself  Professor 

B .    He  had  been  lecturing  for  some  nights  miming  at  the 

Mechanics'  Institute,  for  nothing,  and  had  drawn  together  a  great 
number  of  persons  to  hear  him,  and  witness  the  strange  things 
he  effected  by  mesmerism  on  the  persons  of  such  of  the  audience 
who  wished  to  test  his  skill.  This  would  have  been  but  a  poor 
way  of  getting  his  li^Dg>  But  these  American  adventurers 
never  give  their  time  and  labour  for  nothing.  He  obtained  two 
dollars  for  examining  a  head  phrenologioally,  and  drawing  ont  a 
chart ;  and  as  his  lectures  seldom  closed  without  securing  him  a 
great  many  heads  for  inspection,  our  disinterested  profBssor  con- 
trived to  pocket  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  to  find  his  cheap 
lectures  an  uncommonly  profitable  speculation. 

We  had  heard  a  great  deal  of  his  curing  a  blacksmith  of  00- 
douloureux  by  mesmerising  him.  The  blatiksmith,  though  a  big, 
burly  man,  had  turned  out  an  admirable  clairvoyant,  and  by 
touching  particular  bumps  in  his  cranium,  the  professor  could 
make  him  sing,  dance,  and  fight  all  in  a  breath,  or  transport  him 
to  California,  and  set  bin  to  picking  gold.  I  was  very  curious 
to  witness  this  man's  conduct  under  his  alleged  mesmeric  state, 
and  went  accordingly.  After  a  long  lecture,  during  which  the 
profess  orput  into  a  deep  sleep  a  Kentuckian  giant,  who  travelled 
with  him,  the  blacksmith  was  called  upon  to  satisfy  the  curiosity 
of  the  spectators.  I  happened  to  sit  near  this  individual,  and  as 
he  rose  to  comply  with  the  vociferous  demands  of  the  audience, 
I  shall  never  forgot  the  sidelong  knowing  glance  he  cast  across 
the  bench  to  a  friend  of  his  own;  it' was,  without  exception,  the 
most  intelligent  telegraphic  despatch  that  it  was  possible  for  one 
human  eye  to  convey  to  another,  and  said  more  plainly  thpn 
words  could — "You  shall  see  how  I  can  humbug  them  all." 
That  look  opened  my  eyes  completely  to  the  farce  that  was  acting 
before  me,  and  entering  into  the  spirit  of  the  scene,  I  must  own 
that  I  eiy  oyed  it  amazingly.  The  blacksmith  was  mesmerised  by 
a  looh  alone,  and  for  half  an  hour  went  on  in  a  most  funny  man- 
ner, keeping  the  spectators  with  their  eyes  open,  and  in  coavul- 


89 


im  IN  THB  0LBARIKO8. 


PI 


,■( 


V'- 


sions  of  laughter.  After  a  while,  the  professor  left  him  to  eiijoy 
his  mesmeric  nap,  and  chose  another  subject,  in  the  person  of  a 
man  who  had  lectured  a  few  nights  before  on  the  science  of 
mnemonics,  and  had  been  disappointed  in  a  very  scanty  attend- 
ance. 

After  a  decent  time  had  elapsed,  the  new  subject  yielded  very 
easily  to  the  professor^s  magic  passes,  and  feB^  into  a  profound 
sleep.  Hie  mesmeriser  &en  led  him,  with  his  eyes  shut,  to  the 
front  of  the  stage,  and  pointed  out  to  the  spectators  the  phreno- 
logical development  of  his  head ;  he  then  touched  the  bump  of 
language,  and  set  the  seeming  automaton  talking.  But  here  the 
professor  was  caught  in  his  own  trap.  After  once  setting  him 
going,  he  of  the  mnemonics  refused  to  hold  his  tongue  until  he 
had  given,  tjo  his  weary  listeners,  the  whole  lecture  he  had  de- 
livered a  few  nights  before.  He  pranced  to  &r«l  fro  on  the  plat- 
form, declaiming  in  the  most  pedantic  voica,  and  kept  us  for  one 
blessed  hour  before  he  would  suffer  the  professor  to  deprive  him 
of  the  unexpected  opportunity  thus  afforded  him  of  being  heard. 
It  was  a  droll  scene:  the  sly  blacksmith  in  a  profound  fox's 
sleep— the  declaimer  pretending  to  be  asleep,  and  wide  awake  all 
the  time— and  the  thin,  long-faced  American,  too  wise  to  betray 
his  colleagues,  but  evidently  annoyed  beyond  measure  at  the 
trick  they  had  played  him. 

I  once  went  to  hear  a  lecture  at  the  Mechanics'  Institute, 
delivered  by  a  very  eccentric  person,  who  styled  himself  the 
Hon.  James  Spencer  Lidstone — the  0¥eat  Orator  of  the  West. 
My  astonishment  may  be  guessed  better  than  described,  when  he 
gave  out  for  the  subject  of  liis  lecture — "  Great  women,  from 

Eve  dcfwn  to  Mrs.  M ."    Not  wishing  to  make  myself  a 

laughing-stock  to  a  pretty  numerous  audience,  I  left  the  room. 
Qoing  up  the  street  next  morning,  a  venerable  white-haired  old 
man  ran  after  me,  and  pulling  me  by  the  shawl,  said,  "  Mrs. 

M i  why  did  you  leave  us  last  night?    He  did  jou  justice — 

indeed  he  did.  You  should  have  staid  and  heard  all  the  fine 
things  he  said  of  you."  '5 

,  Besides  scientific  lecturers,  Oanada  is  visited  by  singers  and 
musicians  of  every  country,  and  of  every  age  and  sex — ^from  the 
oelebrated  Jenny  Lind,  and  the  once  celebrate^?.  Braham,  down 


I    , 


f » 


V  %■■  .'■  '■- . 


^W 


UFX  IN  THX  0LXA&IK08. 


61 


to  pretenders  who  oan  neither  sing  nor  plt&y,  worth  paying  a 
York  shilling  to  hear.  Some  of  these  wandering  mnsicians  play 
with  considerable  skill,  and  are  persons  of  talent.  Their  life  is 
one  of  strange  vicissitudes  and  adyentnre,  and  they  have  an  op- 
portunity of  making  the  acquaintance  of  many  odd  characters. 
In  illustration  of  this,  I  will  give  you  a  few  of  the  tdab  of  a 
travelling  musician,  which  I  took  down  from  the  dictation  of  a 
young  friend,  since  dead,  who  earned  a  precarious  living  by  his 
profession.  He  had  the  faculty  of  telling  his  adventures  without 
the  power  of  committing  them  to  paper:  and,  from  the  sim- 
plicity and  truthfulness  of  his  character,  I  have  no  doubt  of  the 
verity  of  all  the  amnsing  anecdotes  he  told.  But  he  shall  speak 
for  himself  in  the  next  chapter. 


A  MAY-DAY  CAROL. 

"  There's  not  a  little  bird  that  wings 

Its  airy  flight  on  high, 
In  forest  bowers  that  sweetly  sings 

So  blithe  in  spring  as  I. 
I  love  the  fields,  the  budding  flowers, 

The  trees  and  gushing  streams ; 
I  bathe  my  brow  in  bahny  showers, 

And  bask  in  sunny  beams. 


m: 


"  The  wanton  wind  that  fans  my  cheek. 

In  fancy  has  a  voice, 
In  thrilling  tones  that  gently  speak— 

Rejoice  with  me,  rejoice! 
The  bursting  of  the  ocean-floods, 

The  silver  tinkling  rills, 
The  whispering  of  the  waving  woods, 

My  inmost  bosom  fills. 


"  The  moss  for  me  a  carpet  weaves 
Of  patterns  rich  and  rare  ; 
And  meekly  through  her  ahelterihg  leaves 
The  viol^  nestles  there. 


88 


•»' 


Lira  IM  TBI   OLEARIKOfl. 

The  violet !— oh,  what  tales  of  love, 
Of  youth's  Bweet  spring  are  thine ! 

And  lovers  still  in  field  and  grove, 
Of  thee  will  ohaplets  twine. 

"  Mine  are  the  treasures  Nature  strews 

With  lavish  hand  around ; 
Ifjr  precious  genn  are  sparkling  dews, 

My  wealth  the  verdant  ground. 
Mine  are  the  songs  that  freely  gush 
"'^  From  hedge-,  and  bush,  and  tree ; 
The  soaring  lark  and  speckled  thrush 

Disoouxse  rich  melody. 

"A  cloud  comes  floating  o'er  the  sun,    ' 

The  woods'  green  glories  fade ; 
But  hark  i  the  blackbird  hat  begun 

His  wild  lay  in  the  shade. 
He  hails  with  joy  the  threaten'd  shower, 

And  plumes  his  glossy  wing ; 
While  pattering  on  his  leafy  bowei, 

I  hear  the  big  drops  ring. 

"  Stowly  at  first,  but  quicker  now, 

The  rushing  rain  descends ; 
And  to  each  spray  and  leafy  bough 

A  crown  of  diamonds  lends. 
Oh,  what  a  splendid  sight  appears  I 

The  sun  bursts  forth  again ; 
And,  smiling  through  sweot  nature's  tears, 

Lights  up  the  hill  and  plain. 

''  And  tears  ore  trembling  in  my  eye?, 

Tears  of  intense  delight ; 
Whilst  gazing  upward  io  the  sides, 

My  heart  o'erflows  my  sight. 
Great  God  of  nature  !  may  thy  gproce 

Pervade  my  inmost  soul ; 
And  in  her  beauties  may  I  trace 

The  Icve  that  form'd  the  whole !" 


LIFB    IN   THE    OLKARlNOfl. 


CHAPTER  V. 

•J- 

TBIAL8  QV   A  TBAyflLI.IIfa  MUSICIAN.  r 

**  The  man  that  hath  not  nnule  In  his  soul." 

I  WILL  say  no  rawe.  The  quotation,  though  but  too  true,  is 
too  well  known ;  but  it  will  serve  as  the  beet  illustration  I  can 
give  to  the  various  annoyances  whiclT  beset  the  path  of  him 
who  is  musicaUy  inclined,  and  whose  soul  is  in  unkon  with 
sweet  sounds.  This  was  my  case.  I  loved  music  with  all  my 
heart  and  soul,  and  in  ordor  to  give  myself  wholly  up  to  my 
passion,  and  chum  a  Bort  of  moral  right  to  ei\joy  it,  I  made  it  a 
profession. 

Few  people  have  a  better  opportunity  of  becoming  acquainted 
with  the  world  than  the  travelling  musician ;  yet  such  is  the 
absorbing  nature  of  his  calling,  that  few  make  use  of  it  less.  His 
nature  is  open,  easy,  and  unsuspecting;  pleased  with  hie  fo- 
fession,  he  hopes  always  to  convey  the  same  pleasure  to  his 
hearers ;  and  though  doubts  will  sometimes  cross  his  mind,  and 
the  fear  of  ridicule  make  him  awkward  and  nervous,  yet,  upon 
the  whole,  he  is  generally  sure  of  making  i  favourable  impres- 
sion on  the  simple-hearif.r'  and  generous  among  his  hearers. 

The  musician  moves  aLuOng  his  fellow-men  as  a  sort  of  privi- 
leged person;  for  who  jver  suspects  him  of  being  a  rogue?  His 
first  attempt  to  deceive  would  defeat  its  own  object,  and  prove 
hira  to  be  a  mere  pretender.  His  hand  and  voice  must  answer 
for  his  skill,  and  form  the  only  true  test  of  his  abilities.  If 
tuneless  and  bad,  the  public  will  not  fail  to  condemn  him.     -j 

The  adventures  of  the  troubadours  of  old,  if  they  were  more 
ftill  of  sentiment  and  romance  than  the  every-day  occurrences 
that  beset  the  path  of  the  modern  minstrel,  were  not  more 
replete  with  odd  chanc  9  and  ladicrous  incidents.  Take  the 
following  for  example  of  the  many  droll  things  which  have 
happened  to  me  during  my  travels. 

In  the  summer  of  1846  I  was  making  a  professional  tour 


^ 


LITE   IK  THK   CLBARINOB. 


ihrongh  the  United  States,  and  had  advertised  a  concert  for  the 
ensuing  /cung  at  the  small  town  of  — — ,  and  was  busy 
inaking  the  necessary  arrangements,  'v  'Tx  I  was  suddenly 
accosted,  as  I  left  the  hotel,  by  a  tall,  tLm,  lack-a-daisical  look- 
ing man,  of  a  most  unmnsical  and  miprepossessing  appearance :  '■ 
" "  How— do— ye— do  f  I'm  highly  tickled  to  see  you.  I  s'pose 
you  are  going  to  give  an  extra  sing  here— ain*t  you  ? " 

*'  Tes;  I  intend  giving  a  concert  here  this  evening." 

"  Hem  I  How  much  dew  you  ax  to  come  in  ?  That  is — I 
want  to  say— what  are  you  goin'  to  chearge  a  ticket ?," 

"  Half  a  dollar — ^the  usual  price." 

"How?"  inclining  his  ear  towards  me,  as  if  he  doubted  the 
soundness  of  the  organ. 

"  Half  a  dollar,"  repeated  I,  carelessly. 

"  'Tis  tew  much.  You  had  better  chearge  twenty-five  cents. 
If  you  dew,  you'll  have  a  pretty  good  house.  If  you  make  it 
twelve  and  a  half  cents,  you'll  have  a  miatiher.  If,  mister, 
you'll  lower  that  again  to  six  and  a  quarter  cents,  you'll  have  to 
take  a  field, — ^there  ain't  a  house  would  hold  'em."  After  a 
pause,  scratching  his  head,  and  shu£9ing  with  his  feet,  "  I  s'pose 
yo\j  .%*,>;nerally  give  the  profession  tickets  ?" 

'  Bosietimes." 

■t*X'v.x  a  leetle  in  your  line  myself.  Although  I'm  a  shoemaker 
by  iriide,  I  leads  the  first  Presbyterian  choir  upon  the  hill.  I 
should  like  to  have  yon  come  up,  if  yon  stay  long  enough." 

"  As  this  is  the  case,  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  if  I  am  likely  to 
have  a  good  house  to-night  ?" 

"  I  reckon  as  how  you  will ;  that  is,  if  you  don't  chearge  tew 
much."  I 

"Where  shall  I  get  the  best  room?"  ^ 

Well,  I  guess,  you  had  better  try  the  old  meetin'  house.'* 

"  Thank  you.  Allow  me,  sir  to  present  you  with  a  ticket." 
I  thought  that  I  had  got  rid  of  him,  and  amply  paid  him  for  thd 
infOTmation  I  had  received.  The  ticket  was  for  a  single  admis- 
sion. He  took  it,  turned  it  slowly  round,  held  it  close  to  his 
eyes,  spelt  it  carefblly  over,  and  then  stared  at  me.  "What 
next?"  thought  I.  { 

"  There's  my  wife.    Well — I  s'pose  she'd  like  to  come  in.'* 


LIFE   IN   THIl   CLKARINOe. 


91 


.  't,  rost  you  any,  mister ;  and  if 
li  i-row." 

no  more  of  Mm,  until  I  spied 
a  small  family  of  ten  or  twelve. 


'    "  You  wish  me  to  give  you  a  double  ticket  ?" 

"I  dont  care  if  you  dew,"  ncain  turnini?  the  new  ticket  in  his 
hand;  and,  scratching  his  hi  id  more  earnestly,  he  paid,  "Pve 
one  of  the  smartest  boys  yon  ever  seed ;  he's  a  f\i8t-rat;e  ear  for 
music;  he  can  whistle  any  tui  he  hears  right  straight  off. 
Then  there's  my  wife's  sistc,  ^ -staying  with  us  jist  now ;  she's 
very  fond  of  miif     tew.' 

"  Perhaps,"  said     io         "T  ^.    enoe,  "  you  would  prefer  a 
family  ticket?" 
:  "Well;  I'd  be  obli     * 
we  don't  use  it,  I'll  re 

The  stranger  left  me,  &i 
him  in  the  concert-room,  v^ 
Presently,  another  man  and  a  di  g  arrived.    Says  he  to  the  door- 
keeper, "  What's  a-goin'  on  here  ?" 

"  It's  a  concert — admission,  half-a-doUar." 

"  I'm  not  a-goin'  to  give  half-a-doUar  to  go  in  here.  I  hire  a 
pew  in  this  here  church  by  the  year,  and  I've  a  right  to  go  in 
whenever  the  door's  open."    So  in  he  went  with  his  dog. 

The  evening  turned  out  very  wet,  and  these  people  liappened 
to  form  all  my  audience ;  and  as  I  did  not  feel  at  all  inclined  to 
sing  for  their  especial  benefit,  I  returned  to  my  lodgings.  I 
learned  from  my  door-keeper  the  next  morning,  that  my  friends 
waited  for  an  hour  and  a  half  for  my  re-appearance,  which  could 
not  reasonably  have  been  expected  under  existing  circumstances. 

I  thought  I  had  got  rid  of  the  musical  shoemaker  for  ever, 
but  no  such  good  luck.  Before  I  was  out  of  my  bed,  he  paid 
me  a  visit. 

^  "  You  will  excuse  my  calling  so  early,"  says  he,  "  but  I  was 
anxious  to  see  you  before  you  left  the  town."  *f 

Wishing  him  at  the  bottom  of  the  Mississippi,  I  put  on  my 
dressing-gown,  and  slipped  from  my  bed  whilst  he  continued 
his  introductory  address. 

"  I  was  very  sorry  that  you  had  not  a  better  attendance  last 
night;  and  I  s'posethat  accounted  for „ your  leaving  lis  as  you 
did.  We  were  all  kinder  disappointed.  You'd  have  had  a 
better  hous^,  only  the  people  thought  there  was  a  leetle  humbug 
about  this,^  liod  he  handed  me  one  of  my  programmes.  ^tv 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


// 


<.^.^^!^ 


Zi 


1.0 


1.1 


1.25 


■  45 

11° 


If       |40 


■"IS 

2.0 


1.8 


U    lllill.6 


V] 


.>.  'l> 


7 


y 


Photographic 

Scitaices 

Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 

(716)  873-4503 


^ 


vV 


iiMi  nr  iiitf  iouiftAimis. 


;«--^-«.'- 


/ 


*^  Homl^iiir,**  said  I,  a£t«mptiBg  to  take  the  biH^  in  oid»  to  m6 
fbftt Ho  tilMtf  liiid«jrigiBat^^^&^  pvigiliag, ^nift  tnf  teimen- 
tor  MA  it  fiwt  '^liOdlcv**  BlM  hd;  ^IKov  srJbere  is  fienrr 
BertKJ  and  Henvy  B«m4B,  wbeM  k  ImI  ikiid  the  OM  Sapsh^ 
QeiitlwmMi,  Hortiii  LisdiMe,  vrh«fi;  has  t>eoeiii«  of  bint  Zh# 
f^QVsiill&atliewM  cfoad,  Mtl  didnPt  bd^v^o  Hmk,  for  I«da*t 
think  that  yon  wonld  have  had  the  £m»  to  pnt  hia  name  in  yoot 
biflifhewaa." 

fiMB  ended  iaif  aiiigaaintanMriri^  the  eidigM»a«d  ahoemaker 
<^  1^  WaAaapj^  I#aa  tfaY^^ing^in  one  of  liie  iveatom  oaoal 
boats  tiie  ialneanQloiie^  and  was  aanntering  to  and  fronpon  the 
deek^  adtnifint^  flie  l>eairi^  of  tl:d  ^omitr^  tiffongb  'winok  we 
-wevo  fiBKtngf  y^pa  I  observed  a  veiy  tall,  thin'^heedf  abirp 
tooling  man,  tegaidihg  me  with  Tory  iBbced  atteotion.  iBTot 
kno^sHng  who  w  what  be  waa,  I  waa  at  lairt  a  lil^e  amu^^  by 
the  pertiiiadty  of  hH  ateady  atare.  Zt  was  evident  that  he 
mee^iatod  an  attMdc  iqion  me  in  some  shape  or  other.  Suddenly 
be  oame  np  to  me,  «tid  eitottffisg  Ms  hand  «»slifaned. 

^"Why,  Ifiater  H''^"  ',  is  Mb  yon?  1  haVe  not  seen  yoa 
since  you  gave  yonr  consort  in  N  ;  it  seems  a  taraa* 

tion  long  while  ago.  I  thought,  perha|»,  yon  had  got  blowed  up 
in  one  of  those  exploded  steam-boats.  But  here  yon  are  as  Uxgt 
as  Hfe—and  that's  not  over  large  neither  (g^lanoiDg  at  l&e  slight 
dimeoidons  <^  my  figure),  and  as  ceady  to  raise  the  idnd  as  ever. 
I  am  higiiy  gratified  to  meet  with  yoti,  as  I  have  one  of  the 
greatest  songs  you  ever  he*rd  to  show  you.  If  you  can  but  set.  it 
to  music,  and  sing  it  in  New  York  city,  it  will  imm<»*taliae  yon, 
md  inmufftalize  tM  tew." 

ilmnsed  i^the  earnestness  with  whidEi  the  iailoir  spoke^  I 
inquired  the  int^eet  (tf  his  soiq;.  ^       '-V 


tarn  im  warn  CT.»iiBHwi. 


*^  Qttfm$  4m»  tHpr  i|t|i>f,«|lgtoi    wwi   dim.    It  iiitt  mA» 

«« Bat  irimt  is  it  Aboott'^ilnift  909 got«}t  iHih  yniF 

**No*HMi, miBter;  Iimivw  p«t^ti»  tirfogi  dowa  on  paperi 
lest  other  I0&  dMidd  find  ttMnt  and  iteal  tiiem^  Bat  TU  give 
yoa  some  itiM  o£il^uie  it  i8»  liMlc'7Q%aiitiK^  I  was  going 
firom  BjraooM  to  BMlMBter,  <m  the  fliBil<4ofiil^  We  met  on  our 
way  a  lare-^-men-Kloiia  etonn.  Tbr  wfod  Mew,'  and  the  rain 
oame  domi  lilse  old  mxfy,  and  eveiytiiiig^loole^  as  black  as  my 
hat ;  and  the  pMSMigiEr  gi»|  iisafvl  aad  wanted  to  get  ofl;  hvt  the 
captain  «oi|g  «^  ^Wiam-'-^  «n»  go*  hm  V  an^  away  we  went 
at  the^te ol twon^Iesaii  hqar, ipdthey  ooi^]»dt  ^,  Bjand 
by  we  etnpck  a  rook,  and  dow^;  we.  went."^  i  ^  ,  , 

** Indeed!"  said !,>* tbat^s  reiy  nnustuil  im  a oaioaf-lei^;  w»re 
anyliTeslo^P 

"liTci^bat  we  were  all  dreadfalfy  akeared  and  covered  wi& 
mud.  I  fat  down  by  the  mir-rfine  MX  g«A  dry,  and  then  I  wrote 
my  pome,  I  wiU  repeat  wliat  I  can  to  jon,  and  what  I  oan*t 
I  win  wilteriji^t  off  ^hen  I  gets  ham.— Bold  on—hold  on— *» 
he  contibaaed,  beating  his  forehead  with  the  back  <^  his  hwid^  as 
if  to  awaken  tibe  powers  of  memory-^"  I  have  it  jiow— I  have  it 
90w,'-<-*ti8  |krftr-{neiH-4oiUh---"       -^ 


■'"\. 


"^  Oh  Loti,  yii^o  k^ow*si  ^vhUiU  of  men, 
Gui4a  my  hand,  and  gvide  my  pea, 
▲ad  help  me  Inring  the  truth  to  light, 
0tika,1i  draad  eoette  and  awfcd  nij^ 
BJ}  Mi  ri,  <tU|  x^  tu. 

Theie  was  MiatlBr  Cedoga  m  years  a^lmd, 
Was  fowid  next  moiaing  in  tew  feet  nriid : 
BEt  stranrei^he  strov^j—^bttt  all  in  tain,. 
The  moxe  he  |;ot  up,  he  fell  down  again. 
V:     '  il,tn,ii^tu,ri»tu." 


Tbut  poet  poosed  for  a  monient  to  gain  breatiiv  evident  oven* 
oome  bythe  i«o(dlaptio&  of  the  awM  seme.  **Ib  not  that  bee^ 
Hr-^tiM  t*'  he  eacelaimed.    ^ What  a  fine  eflbot  yoa  ooold  givv  to 


4*tm.*L  1^  th*  p>»  i>   n»,  Iramonriog  tb«  ls»yi  to  iaiitAte  the 
B^itbUkig  ftbovt  in  th«  nrnd.    l^tiaa  tell  yon  mitter^ it  would 
beat  BnsMtt'e  *  Ship  on  l&re*  all  h(^w." 
Wiping  tha  panpinitioi^from  Ua  ftoa,  ha  reoommeiioed,^ 

"  ThtgaitciPgw  Mwtod  iwto  tha  upgt,. 

W«  g!pt  hin  fa|»  ott  of  the  mud, 
But  he  had  loit  his  ihoe. 

-    Ei,^ri,tii,ri,tn." 

I  oonld  Bot  listen  to  another  line  of  tiiis  snblio^e  ettiision,  the 
passengers  who  had  gathered  aronnd  itt  drownbg  his  nasal  drawl 
in  a  complete  roar  of  laughter.  Sedng  that  f  was  aa  much  infec- 
ted as  Ibe  rest,  the  poet  toined  to  me,  with  aii  air  of  offended 
dignity,— 

**I  cbnH  take  the  trouble)  mister,  to  repeat  any  more  of  my 
p$nm  to  yon ;  nor  do  I  take  it  kind  at  all,  ybnr  laughing  at  me 
in  tibat  ere  waiy.  Bat  tha  truth  is,  you  can^t  comprehend  nor 
appreciate  anything  that  is  sublimie,  or  out  of  the  common  way. 
Besidite,  I  don't  tmnk  you  could  set  it  to  muuc ;  it  is  not  in  you, 
and  you  caaH  fix  it  no  how.'* 

This  singular  address  ronewed  our  mirth ;  and,  finding  myself 
unable  to  control  my  inclination^  to  laii^h,  and  not  wishing  to 
hurt  his  feelings,  I  was  at>out  v  re  him,  when  th4  man  at  the 
hdm  sung  out  "Bridge  I" 

The  passengers  lowered  t^oir  heads  to  ernure  their  safety — ^all 
but  my  friend  the  jxwt,  who  was  too  much  excited  to  notice  the 
signal  before  he  came  in  contact  with  the  bridge,  which  sent  him 
sprawling  down  the  gangway.  He  picked  himself  up,  clambered 
up  the  stairs,  and  began  striding  up  and  down  the  deck  at  a 
tremendous  rate,  casting  from  time  to  lime  indj^poant  glances 
at  me. 

I  thought,  for  my  part,  tihat  £he  Inan  was  not  in  his  right  senses, 
or  that  the  blowhe4iad  receiyed,  had  so  dulled  his  bunp  of  \iau- 
tiioB,  that  he  could  no  longer  take  pare  of  himself}  for  the  ne;xt 
moment  lie  stumbled  oyer  a  litUe  ohild^  and  would  hare  been 
burl  fe^ter^  if  1  had  not  brokea  his  £dl,  by  catching  his  arm 


im  nr  nn  oubaboim* 


^ 


b«f(v«  he  Agabi  moMond  jbli  lai^i^th  on  >t2k#  diMk.  Ify  timdly 
aasistanQe  mollified  bis  anger ;  |e  onoe  nuftre  berame  ftienxHj  and 
confidendaL 

**Heie,  take  this  piece  of  poetryf  Muter  H  i  h'"'*^  and  see  if 
yon  can  ^et  i^  to  mnaio.  Mind  yon,  it  is  none  of  mine;  but 
though  not  quite  lo^yieod,  it  is  aom'at  in  my  style.  I  out  it  oat 
of  a  newspaper  down  East.  Ton  are  welcome  to  iV*  he  contin- 
ued, with  a  patronizing  nod,  "  that  is,  if  yon  are  able  to  do  jos- 
lioe  to  the  subject." 

I  took  the  piece  of  dirty  ermnpled  newspaper  from  his  hand ; 
and,  struck  with  the.  ^hoU  quizzing  humour  of  the  lines,  I  have 
preserved  them  eyer  since.  As  I  have  never  seen  them  before 
or  since,  I  give  you  them  here. 


vj 


TO  THE  FALLS  OF  NIAGAEA. 

**  I  wonder  how  long  yoit^TS  been  roaii^* 
At  this  infernal  rate ; 
I  wonder  if  all  youVe  been  pourin' 
Could  be  ciphor'd  on  a  elate. 

**I  iR^iier  h^w  siR^  a  thimderih^  aoi^ 
When  all  New  York  was'woods, — 
'Spose  Ukdy  some  Indiana  have  been  drownded, 
When  the  raina  have  raised  yonr  floods. 

**I  wondor  if  wild  stage  and  buffaloes 

Have  stood  where  now  I  staoid ; 
.  Well— «'poBe  being  scared  at  finrtj  tiiey  stubVd  tiieir  toes ; 
I  won^ar  Where  ttuy'd  land. 

"  I  wonder  if  that  rainbow  has  been  shinin* 
Since  eon-rise  at  creation  j 
And  this  waterfall  been  underminin' 
With  constant  spatteration. 

"  That  Hoses  never  mention'd  ye— -I've  wonder'd, 
'    WbUe  other  tbings  deioribin' ;— 
My  conscience  l^how  ye  mUst  have  foam'd  and  thniider'd 
Wh«n  the  dehige  was  snbsidhk' !  ^ 


i 


p 


I 


M  M9M  IV  fSB  CXJBiLltlltQBi 

« 

■r        **^Uy  llieim^trttte  rtraag«|  iiaagttiacmt  uift  de<qp, 
IVban  I  look  down  «ii  ili^'— 
(^  wh»t  a  gloiioas  placo  for  washing  sheep 

■>  ^ 

"  And  oh,.  iN^iat  » 1ai^aMa4oai  watot  power 
Is  wadbed  oyex  its  6dg9 ; 
One  man  i|U|^t  fi«niish  aU  the  iKotld  ijfith  flour, 
With  a  single  pritil^. 

\,         "I  wonder  how  many  timM  the  lakes  hare  all 
Beim  emptied  over  here; 
Wby  Clint(Mi  did  not  feed  the  graad  Canal 
TJp  here*— I  think  is  queer.  '   '      ' 

"The  thoug^«re  very  strain &aterewd  my  brain, 
J,  When  I  lodk  Up  to  thee ; 

,  ^vteh  thoughts  I  never  expect  to  have  again,, 

To  all  eternity.",.      ^ 


■4. 


:..;'*■ 


After  reading  the  lines,  I  b^^  my  friend  to  ezonse  me,  aa  I 
wanted  to  go  below  and  take  a  ni^.  I  ba,d  not  been  long  in  the 
cabin  before  he  followed  me.  To  get  rid  of  him, .  X  pretended  to 
be  asleep.  After  passing  m&two  or  lihree  times,  and  leaning  over 
me  in  the  most  inquiativft  manaer,  mit^  his  long  nose  nearly 
went  into  my  eye ;  and  humming  a  bow-wow  tune  in  my  ear  to 
ascertain  if  I  were  really  napping,  he  tamed  from  me  with  a  dis- 
satisfied grant,  flong  himself  into  a  settee,  and  not  loz^;  after  was 
puffing  and  blowing  like  a  poi^ise.  I  was  glad  of  this  oppor- 
tonity  to  go  on  deck  i^n,  and  ^*I  teft  him  alone  in  his  glory." 
But,  while  I  was  congratulating  myse]|.(^,  my  good  forimiei  I 
fomid  him  pnoe  more  at  my  side.  ^ 

Good  hearens  I  how  I  wished  him  at  the  bottom  of  the  canal, 
when  he  ooasmenoed  telling  me  some  awful  dream  he  had  had. 
I  was  too  much  annoyed  at  being  pestered  with  his  compa^^y  to 
listen  to  him,  a  etrounstanoe  I  ncm*  rather  Ngret,.fidSr  had  his 
dreams  been  eq^oal  to  his  po^ry,  thej  eertahdy  iaii$t  h&ve  pos- 
seised  the  fare  merit  of  origiiiaUty ;'  and  I  conld  haT«  gratifie(| 
my  readers  i^th  8omethi9g«&^^OTXt  of  the  common  way.     ' 


% 


M»E  •»  YBM  tlMAXOfW. 


ft 


Torning  abraptly  frtitti  Mm,  I  entered  into  eottttuittfon  with 
another  geutleman,  and  qtdte  Ibrgot  my  eoo^trio  ft^end  nntil  I 
retired  for  the  night,  when  I  fimnd  hW  waiting  for  me  in  the 
cabin. 

"  Ho,  ho,  mister,— Ib  that  yon  ?  I  was  afear^d  we  had  put  yon 
ashore.    What  berth  are  yon  goin' to  t^et*^ 

I  pointed  to  Ko.  4. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  **wonld  yon  have  any  oli||eo1ion  to  my  locat- 
ing in  the  one  above  you,  as  I  feel  a  leetls  qf^aar'df  It  is  so 
awfal  daric  ont-doors,  and  the  clonds  look  tre— meik-Hlons  bkok, 
as  if  Uiey*d  be  a-poorbi*  all  nighty  The  reason  why  I  prefer  the 
npp&t  berth  is  this,"  he  oontinned  oonfideniii^y ;  ^  if  we  should 
ffdl  in  with  a  storm,  afid  all  go  to  the  bottom,  I  should  have  a 
better  chanoe  of  saving  myself.  But  mind  yon,  if  she  should  sink 
I  will  give  yon  half  of  my  bwtih^,  if  youTl  come  iq»." 

I  thanked  him  for  his  offer,  and  not  being  at  ^  apprehendve, 
I  told  him  that  I  preferred  staying  where  I  was.  Soon  after  I 
retted,  hoping  to  sleep,  bnt  I  had  not  cdoidated  on  tiie  powers 
of  annoyance  possessed  by  my  qiumdam  Mend.  I  had  Jast  laid 
mysetf  comfortably  down,  when  I  felt  one  o^  fais  hnge  feet  on  the 
side  of  my  berth.  Lookkig  ont,  I  espied  him  crawling  np  on  all- 
fonrs  to  luB  place  iii  seonrity  for  the  night.  His  head  had  scarcely 
touched  ihe  pfflow  before  he  commonced  telling  me  some  long 
yam ;  but  I  begged  Mm,  in  no  very  gentle  tone,  to  hold  on  till 
the  morning,  as  I  had  a  very  severe  headache,  and  wanted  to  go 
to  sleep. 

I  had  fallen  into  a  sort  of  doze,  when  I  thought  I  heard  some 
(me  talking  in  a  low  voice  dose  to  my  ear.  I  started  into  a  sitting 
posture,  and  listened  a  moment.  It  was  pitdi  dark;  I  oould  see 
nothing.  I  soon^  however,  discovered  thiit  tibe  mysterious  sounds 
prwseeded  from  the  berth  above  me.  It  Ivas  my  fdend  reciting, 
either  for  my  Mnusement  or  his  own,  tiie  poem  he  had  fevoured 
me  with  in  the  morning.  He  was  apparency  nearly  asleep,  and 
he  drawled  the  half-uttered  sentences  thronjB^  his  nose  iitr  the 
most  ludicrous  manner.  Ho  was  reoapitulathig  tiie  disastrOns 
condition  <tf  Hr.  Oadoza:-*- 


ty-K' 


1!^ 


LfXM  in ,  TBB   OIAABUfOB. 


r 


•45    i-*'i, 


«  Theie  wm  Hitter  GMo-cfr-rinyeMt  »-lmd— 

iLf  •taot«~4>ai--an  Tftin; 
•file  moie  he  feft— down— be  got  up— •«f-»-in. 

El— ttt-^— tu." 


Here  followed  a  treBMndotm  ■nore,  md  I  \mnb  into  ft  pro- 
longed  fit  of  lavghter,  wfaloh  fortnuuttely  did  not  pat  »  stop  to 
the  sonorowi  bass  of  my  oompanion  oytohead^  whose  snoring  I 
o(»iridered  &r  more  tolerable  than  his  oonyersatioii. 

Jnst  at  tiyus  moment  the  boat  straok  the  bank,  which  it  fre- 
quently d^Sj^ft  very  dark  night,  whieh  gave  the  vessel  snoh  a 
shoi^  tlii^fbroke  the  cOrds  that  seenred  the  poet's  bed  to  the 
beam  il|i^e,  and  down  he  oame,  head  foreraost,  to  tiie  floor. 
This  ftOdd^  o6easi<»iod  me  no  oamU  discomfort,  as  be  nearly 
took  my  berth  with  him.  It  was  fortunate  for  me  that  I  was 
Jnwake,  or  he  might  havo  killed  me  in  his  descent;  as  it  was,  I 
had  only  time  to  throw  myself  back,  when  he  rushed  past  me 
with  the  G|>eed  of  an  avalanche,  oanrying  bed  and  bed-^othes 
with  bim  in  one  oonfosed  heap;  and  there  he  lay  upon  the 
flocHT,  roUmg  and  roaring  like  some  wild  beast  can^t  in  a  net. 

"Oh,  dearly  <*,  dear  I  I  wonder  where  I  is;  what  a  tre-^ 
men— dons  storm — ^what  a  dreadM  night — ^not  a  sonl  can  be 
saved^— I  knew  it— I  dreampt  it  all.  O  Lord  I  we  shall  all  go 
to  the  bottom  and  findetemity  tlifljro.-.-OH>t«'a""-<»**«"i"-~"'^^®^ 
be  we?**  .'>,A;^'•^-^^^v■.^.  ■•,■/■:  ^ ■-,''• 

Here  a  child  belonging  to  one  of  the  passengers,  awakened  by 
his  bellowing,  began  to  cry.        « *>^  % 

"Oh,  dearl  Some  one  else  is  sinking,  detain — captain — 
confound  him!  I  s'pose  he's  drownded,  like  the  rest.  Thank 
heaven!  here's  sometitung  to  hold  on  to,  to  keep  mo  from  ^nkr 
ing!"  and,  dutdhing  at  the  table  in  the  dark,  he  upset  it,  and 
bn!)ke  t^e  1ai^  l^mp  that  had  been  left  upon  il  Down  c«iie 
the  broken  ^em  upon  him  in  a  shower  wMch,  doub'^ess,  he  took 
for  the  waves  breaking  over  him,  for  he  raised  such  a  cttitter 
with  his  hands  and  foet,  and  uttered  such-ddeM  screams,  that 
fbe  passengers  started  simultaneously  from  ilieir  sleep,— . 

"  What's  the  matter  9  is  iSiat  man  mad  or  drai&  t**  ezdfadmed 
Sjdveifl  voices. 


ura  IN  fHi  ouiuuiroa. 


•0 


The  gentleman  bMieath  th«  bed-«lothe8  again  groaned  forth, — 
**  We  are  all  lost  If  I  omoe  gat  upon  dry  land,  ^onll  never 
catoh  me  in  a  oanal-boat  a^.**  ^ 

Pitying  his  distress  I  got  up,  groped  my  way  to  the  steward's 
herth,  and  snooeeded  in  proooring  a  light.  When  I  returned  to 
the  cahin,  I  found  the  poet  lying  on  the  floor,  y/itk  the  table 
upon  him,  and  he  holdmg  it  &8t  with  both  hands,  orying  vehe- 
mently, "  I  wiU  never  let  go.    I  will  hmg  on  to  the  last." 

"You  are  dreaming,"  said  I;  **  come,  get  np.  The  cords  of 
yonr  bed  were  not  strong  enongb  to  hold  yon,  and  yon  have  got 
a  tumble  on  to  the  fk)or ;  nothii^  dse  is  the  matter  with  you." 

As  I  oeassd  fi|>eaking  tiie  vessel  again  struck  l&e  bank,  and  my 
friend,  in  his  eagerness  to  save  himself^  upset  me,  light  and  all. 
I  again  upset  all  the  amaH  fdeoes  of  fanditm^e  in  my  reach,  to  the 
great  amusement  of  the  passengers,  who  were  sitting  up  in  their 
berths,  listening  to,  and  laughing  at  our  conversatitm.  We  were 
all  once  more  in  the  dark,  and  I  can  assure  my  readers  that  my 
situation  was  everything  but  comfortable^  as  the  eooMitrio  gentle- 
man had  hold  of  both  of  my  legs. 

"  Tou  foolish  fellow,"  cried  I,  kicking  with  all  my  might  to 
free  myself.  "  There  is  no  harm  done;  the  boat  has  only  struck 
again  upon  the  bank." 

"Where  is  the  bank  i  "  Sfdd  he,  stall  labouring  under  the  delu- 
sion that  he  was  in  the  watw.  "  Give  me  a  hold  on  it.  If  I 
can  only  get  on  the  bank  I  shall  be  safe." 

Finding  it  imposinble  to  col  >ce  him  how  matters  really 
stood,  I  left  him  to  unrol  himself  io  his  full  dimensions  on  tho 
floor,  and  groping  my  way  to  a  sofa,  laid  myself  down  once  more 
to  sleep.  -• 

When  the  passengers  met  at  the  breakfast-table,  the  poor  poet 
and  his  misfcartunes  during  the  night  gave  rise  to  much  quizzing 
and  merriment,  particularly  when  he  made  his  appearance  with 
a  black  eye,  and  the  skin  rubbed  off  the  tip  of  his  nose. 

One  gentiieman,  who  was  most  active  in  teanng  hiiA,  cried  6ut 

to  me — "2£r.  H ^  do  try  and  set  last  mght's  adventure  to 

mufflc,  and  i^g  them  this  evening  at  your  concert.  They  would 
make  a  tra—men — cUnu  teiuatwn^  I  assure  you." 

The  poet  looked  daggers  at  us,  and  seizing  his  carpet-bag, 


I- 


I. 

i 


im  or  nn  olujukos. 


i 


( 


Bpmg  to  the  deck,  and  from  th«  deck  to  the  diorei  whioh  he 
fcrtuuitely  readied  in  safety,  without  easting  a  parting  c^ee  at 
his  tormentors. 

THE  MOUNTAIN  AIK. 

*'  B»Te  not  to  me  <dj«Hu  ipMidiiif  wine ; 
Bid  not  lor  me  the  goblet  ahine ; 
My  eoul  ia  stlurst  for  »  dranght  more  tue, 
A  giuh  of  the  pure  firedi  moant«in  air  I 

**  It  wafis  on  lie  cnrrenti  tite  ridi  perfume 
Of  tlie  purple  Itenth,  and  tite  luHiied  Iwoom ; 
Tlie  golden  fursoy  au^  4iie  lunfibom  fiHT* 
'  ■    Shed  all  their  sweeti  to  the  moimtain  air. 

**  It  pUjs  ronnd  tiie  bank  of  tiie  money  stone, 
■  Where  the  violet  droops  like  a  mm  alone; 
Siroading  her  eyes  from  tlM  noon-tide  |^e, 
But  breathing  her  soul  to  the  mountainHur. 


"It  gives  to  my  i^iriis  a  tone  of  miriln- 
I  bowid  with  joy  o'er  the  new-dressed  earth, 
When  spring  has  scatter'd  her  bloseonu  there. 
And  laden  with  balm  the  mountain  air. 


\i' 


"  From  nature's  fountain  my  nectar  flows, 
'Tis  the  essence  of  each  sweet  bud  that  blows  i 
Then  oome^  Mid  with  me  the  banquet  idUure, 
Let  us  breath  together  the  mountain  airl " 


■W--  M.   ■    ■■  ■>-, 


IfK 


uwn  m  warn  eiMkxaiwt* 


i9g 


OHAFTEB  VI. 

nuis  or  A  iBiTiLXJMO  MunaiAii. 

THB  tmoDra  sohooi. 

**OMiMlt*i  an  cntBttl  grM*-«o»t,  Mid  itkki 
Oaf  <o  Um  WMcwr  for  hit  OMrtal  Ilfii 
It  bM  BO  tpot  or  wrlnU*  In  Us  •y«s,  • 
And  qnite  onto  out  the  ooatt  of  other  aun.*' 

8.1L 

**  B^  had  •  llddle  eafflsr  oat  of  toBo, 
A  Toleo  M  hndiy  M  •  rBV<m  ereakiac, 
Or  owlet  kooMnf  to  the  eleaded  moon. 
Or  bloated  biiU*flrog  in  MUM  mod-hole  ehokinf.** 

DuBivo  my  professional  jonmies  throngih  the  oonntrj,  I  have 
often  had  the  curiosity  to  visit  the  ringing  schools  in  tiie  small 
towns  and  villages  through  which  I  passed.  These  are  often 
taught  by  persons  who  are  perfectly  ignorant  of  the  common 
rules  of  muaio— men  yvho  have  followed  the  plough  all  their 
lives,  and  know  about  as  much  of  the  divine  science  tiiey  pretend 
to  teach  as  <me  of  their  oxen. 

I  have  often  be«a  amuiftd  et  their  manner  of  explaining  the 
principles  of  thehr  art  to  their  pupils,  who  profit  so  little  by 
their  instructions,  that  they  are  as  wise  at  the  end  of  their  quar- 
ter as  when  they  began.  The  master  usuaHy  endeavours  to  im- 
press upon  tiiem  the  importance  of  making  themselves  heard,  and 
caUs  him  the  smartest  fdlow  who  is  able  to  make  the  most  noise. 
TIk'  'M>n8taat  vibration  Ihey  keep  up  through  their  noses  gives 
yon  the  idea  that  their  teadier  has  been  in  the  habit  of  rdsing 
sheep,  and  had  caught  many  of  their  peculiar  notes.  This  style 
he  very  kindly  imparts  to  his  pufdls ;  and  as  apt  scholars  gene- 
rally try  to  inntate  their  master,  choirs  taught  by  tiiese  indi- 
viduals resemble  a  flock  of  sheep  going  bahing  one  aib&e  another 
over  a  wall. 

I  wiU  give  you  a  specimmi  of  one  of  these  schools,  that  I  hap- 
pened to  visit  during  my  stay  in  the  town  of  W ■-,  in  ihe 

western  states.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  all  music  masters  are 
like  the  one  I  am  about  to  describe,  but  he  bears  a  very  dose 


!   I 


i-~ 


S 


m 


1^ 


im  nr  rai  6UAimrcM» 


resembUmoe  to  »  great  many  of  the  same  oalling,  who  praotlae 
their  profeesfon  in  remote  iettlements,  where  they  are  not  llkelj 
to  find  many  to  oritioise  their  performanoe. 
^  I  nad  advertised  a  eonoert  for  the  2d  of  January,  1848,  to  be 
C^ven  in  the  towu  of  W— <— — .  I  arrived  on  the  day  appointed, 
and  fortunately  made  the  aoqnaintanoe  of  several  gentlemen 
amateurs,  who  happened  to  be  boarding  at  the  hotel  to  which  I 
had  been  recommended.  They  kindly  manifested  a  lively  inte- 
rest in  my  suooess,  and  promised  to  do  all  in  their  power  to  pro- 
cure me  a  good  house. 

While  seated  at  dinnw,  otae  of  my  neW'  fHends  received  a  note, 
which  he  said  came  from  a  singing  master  residing  in  a  small 
village  a  tsw  miles  back  of  "W  '  .  After  reading  the  epistle, 
and  langb^g  heartily  over  its  contents,  he  gave  it  to  me.  To 
my  great  astonishment  it  ran  as  follows  :— 

**Mt  DBAB  BOBKBTS, 

**HoW  do  you  dot  I  hope  yoti  will  excuse  me  for  trou- 
bling you  on  this  occasion ;  but  I  want  to  ax  you  a  particlar 
question.  Is  you  acquainted  with  the  man  who  is  a-goin*  to  give 
a  sing  in  youi^  town  to  night t  If  yon  be,  jist  say  to  him,  from 
me,  tiiat  if  he  ynU  come  over  here,  we  will  get  him  up  a  house. 
If  he  wai— or  won^t  cum-^please  let  me  know.  I  am  teaching 
a  singing  school  over  here,  and  I  can  do  a  great  deal  for  him,  if 
he  will  only  cimi.  Yours  most  respectftilly, 

"John  Bbownb." 


i'l 


"  Ton  had  better  go,  Mr.  H ^,"  said  Roberts.    "  This  John 

Browne  is  a  queet  chap,  and  I  promise  you  lots  of  tan.  If  yOu 
dedde  upon  going  we  wiU  eHH  accompany  you,  and  help  to  fiH 
your  house. 

"By  aU  means,**  said  I.  "You  will  do  me  a  great  favor  to 
return  an  answer  to  the  professional  gentleman  to  that  e£&ct.  I 
will  send  him  some  of  my  programmes,  and  if  he  can  get  a  tolera- 
ble plaAo,  I  will'  go  over  and  give  them  a  concert  next  Saturday 
evening.'* 

"nie  note  and  the  bills  of  performance  were  duly  despatohed 
to  ',  and  the  next  morning  we  received  an  ani^er  from 


UVI  nr  THl  OUABXVM. 


m 


the  ringing  master  tosaj  that  ill  was  right,  and  that  Ifir.  Bnmna 
would  be  happy  to  c^ve  Mr.  H-— 4dB  valnabla  wariatanoe;  Irat, 
if  possible,  he  wid&ed  that  I  eonld  oome  out  on  IVidaj,  inatead 
of  Saturday,  aa  his  school  met  on  that  evening  at  aix  o^dook, 
and  he  wotdd  like  me  to  witness  the  performanoe  of  Ua  aoholarB, 
whieh  would  only  last  from  five  in  the  evening  till  six,  and  con- 
sequently need  not  interfere  at  all  with  my  conoMrt,  whidh  waa 
to  commence  at  eii^t. 

We  ordered  a  ooAveyanee  immediately,  and  aa  it  waa  the  very 
day  signified  in  the  note,  we  started  off  ibr  the  village  of  — — — w 
On  our  arrival  we  weremet  at  the  door  of  the  only  hotel  in  tiie 
place,  by  the  man  a  **  l«etle  in  my  line.*' 

*^  Is  this  you,  Mr.  Tl^tng-a-my.  I  can*t  fbr  the  Ufe  of  me  think 
of  your  name.  '  But  no  matter.  Ain*t  you  the  chap  aa  ia  »>goin' 
to  c^ve  us  the  con-sort  this  evening?  ** 

I  answered  in  the  affirmative,  and  he  continued'— 

"  What  a  Uetle  fellow  yon  be.  Now  I  stand  six  feet  four 
inches  in  my  boots,  and  my  voice  is  high  in  proporti<m.  But  I 
8*poBe  you  can  sing.  Small  fellows  alien  make  a  great  ndse.  A 
bantam  roaster  allers  crows  as  loud  as  an  old  game  orower,  to 
make  folks  believe  that  the  dung-hill  is  his'n." 

I  was  very  much  amused  at  his  comparing  me  to  a  bantam 
cock,  and  felt  almost  inclined  to  dap  my  wings  and  crow. 

"I  have  sent  all  your  bills  about  town,"  continued  the  odd 
man,  *^and  invited  all  the  tlp^tops  to  cum  and  hear  you.  I  have 
engaged  a  good  room,  and  forty  pound  pee-arne.  I  appose  it's 
worth  as  much,  for  'tis  a  terrible  smart  one.  It  belonga  to  Dea- 
con S — — ;  and  his  two  daughters  are  the  prettiest  gals  here- 
abouts. Thej  play  *01d  Dan  Tudb:er,'  and' all  manner  of  tunes. 
I  found  it  deuced  hard  to  get  the  old  woman's  consent;  but  I 
knew  she  wouldn't  refbse  me,  as  she  is  looking  out  to  eotoh  me 
for  one  of  the  daughters.  She  made  many  objeoticNos — said  that 
she  would  rather  the  cheese-press  and  the  cooknstove,  and  all  the 
rest  of  the  fhmiture  went  out  of  the  house  tium  the  pee-a-ne,  as 
she  was  afear'd  that  the  strings  would  break,  and  all  the  keys 
spill  out  by  the  way.  The  strings  are  rusty,  and  the  keys  loose 
enough  already.  I  told  the  old  missus  that  I  would  take  good 
care  that  the  right  side  was  kept  uppermost;  and  that  if  any 


i04 


UVB  IN  THB  OLBARINOS. 


1^ 


t 


'■ 


h 


\) 


batm  bi^ipened  to  the  instramwt,  yoa  could  set  it  all  rigbt 
agin." 

"I  am  8<HTy,"  said  I,  "to  hemr  cmoh  a  poor  aoooimt  of  the 
ingtrnmeat.    It  is  kopos^ble  to  sing  well  to  a  bad  piano — ^" 

*^Phoo^  phoo,  man  I  there's  nobody  here  that  ever  heVd  a 
better.  3ad  or  good,  it's  the  only  one  in  the  vUlage.  I  play  on 
this  pee-a-ne  a  le^le  myself,  and  that  ought  to  be  some  enoour- 
agement  to  you.  I  am  goin'  to  do  a  considerable  business  in  the 
singing  line  here.  I  have  stirred  up  all  the  leetle  g^Is  and  boys 
in  the  place,  and  set  tliem  whistling  an'  playing  on  the  Jew's 
harp.  Then  I  goes  to  the  old  'mis,  and  says  to  them,  what 
gennses  for  music  these  yonng  'uns  be  1  it  is  your  dnty  to  im- 
prove a  talent  that  provid^ice  has  bestowed  on  yonr  children. 
I  pats  on  alimg  &oe,  like  a  parson,  when  I  talkd  of  providence 
and  the  like  o'  that,  and  yoa  don't  know  how  amazingly  it  takes 
with  the  old  folks.  Hiey  think  that  providence  is  allers  on  the 
look  oat  to  dx>  them  some  good  torn. — 
#*Wha*  do  yoa  charge,  Mr.  Browne?'  says  they,  instanter. 

"  Qhi  a  mere  trifle,  says  I  instanter.  Jist  half-a-dollar  a  quar- 
ter-^part  in  cash,  part  iaprodnee. 

»'*'Tis  cheap,' says  they  agin. 

"  Tew  little,  says  I,  by  half. 

"  ^  Wellt  the  children  shall  go,*  says  the  old  man.  ^Missos,  yoa 
see  to  it.' 

^^  The  oMldren  like  to  hear  themselves  called  gennses,  and  they 
go  into  it  like  smoke.  When  I  am  toniiig  my  voice  at  my  lodg- 
ings in  the  evening,  Just  by  way  of  recreation,  the  leetle  boys  all 
gets  round  my  winder,  to  listen  to  my  singing.  They  are  so  fond 
of  it  I  can't  get  them  away.  They  make  such  a  confounded 
noise,  in  trying  to  imitate  my  splendid  style.  But  I'll  leave  yon 
to  j^dge  of  thkt  for  yourself.  'Spose  you'll  be  up  with  me  to  the 
singing-schocrii,  and  then  you  will  hew  what  I  can  do." 

**  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  attend  you." 

"  Yon  see,  Mr.  Thing>a-my,  this  is  my  first  lesson,  and  you 
make  all  allowances.  If  there  should  be  any  trouble,  or  that  ajl 
should  not  go  right.  Yon  see  one  seldom  gets  the  hang  of  it  the 
first  Bighi,  no  how.  I  have  been  rarmiug  most  of  my  life,  but  I 
quits  that  ftbOftt  fiv<>  w«eks  ago»,i»dJbftve  l)een  ^udying  hwrd  lor. 


f-' 


urm  im  ram  oliasinos. 


105 


my  profeesion  eyer  since.  I  have  got  a  large  Bchool  here,  another 
at  A—- — t  and  another  at  L-— •;  and  before  the  whttor  i»  over, 
I  shall  be  qualified  to  teaoh  at  W— — .  I  play  the  big  bass  fiddle 
and  the  violin  right  off;  and— -^^ 

Here  a  little  boy  came  ninning  np  to  say  tiiat  his  ftther's 
sheep  had  got  ont  of  the  yard,  and  had  gone  down  to  Deacon 
8  ;  and,  sud  he,  **The  folks  have  sent  for  yon,  Ifister 
Browne,  to  cum  and  tnm  'em  ont" 

*'  A  meroiM  intervention  of  providence,**  thought  I,  who  was 
already  heartily  weary  of  my  new  acquaintance,  and  b^an  to  be 
afiraid  that  I  never  should  get  rid  of  him.  To  tell  the  truth,  I 
was  80  tired  of  looking  np  at  hira,  that  I  felt  that  I  could  not 
converse  much  longer  with  him  without  endangering  the  elasti- 
city of  my  neck,  and  he  would  have  been  affironted  if  I  had  asked 
him  to  walk  in  and  sit  down. 

He  was  not  very  well  pleased  With  Deacon  8— — **8  message. 

"That  comes  of  t)orrowing,  mister.  If  I  had  not  asked  the 
loan  of  the  pee-a-ne,  they  never  would  have  sent  for  me  to  look 
arter  their  darned  sheep.  I  must  go,  however.  I  hope  you'll 
be  able  to  keep  yourself  alive  in  my  absence.  I  have  got  to 
string  up  the  old  fiddle  for  to-night.  The  singing-sdlMml  is 
about  a  mile  from  this.  I  will  come  down  with  my  old  mare 
arter  you,  when  it's  just  time  to  be  a-goin'.    So  good-bye.'*^ 

Away  he  strode  at  the  rate  of  six  miles  an  hour;  his  long  legs 
accomplishing  at  one  step  what  would  have  taken  a  man  of  my 
dimensions  three  to  compass.  I  then  went  into  the  hotel  to 
order  dinner  for  my  friends,  as  he  had  allowed  me  no  oppor- 
tunity to  do  so.  The  conceited  fellow  had  kept  me  standing  a 
foot  deep  in  snow  for  the  last  hour,  while  Bstefnng  to  his  intoler- 
ably dull  conversation.  My  disgust  and  disappointment  afforded 
great  amusement  to  my  friends;  but  in  spite  of  all  my  ea- 
treaties,  they  could  not  be  induced  to  kave  theif  punch  fmd  a 
warm  fire  to  accompany  me  in  my  pilgrimage,  to  the  singing- 
school. 

We  took  dinner  at  four  o'clock,  and  the  cloth  was  scarcely 
drawn,  when  my  musical  friend  made  his  appearance  with  the 
old  mare,  tx>  take  me  along  to  the  school. 

Our  turn-out  was  everytbins  btit  preposeesidng.    A  large  tm- 


I- 1 


lOf 


LOT   IN   fBI  OLEABISGS. 


-wieldy  oniter  of  home  maaofkotore,  tiie  boards  of  trhioh  it  was 
composed  nnplained  and  nnpainted,  with  rope  harness,  and  an 
undressed  bull's  hide  by  way  of  buffalo's  formed  our  equipage. 
Bat  no  des<anption  that  I  could  give  you  wcmid  do  justice  to  the 
old  mare. .  A  sorry  beast  she  wa»*~thidc  legged,  rough  coated, 
and  of  a  dirty-yellow  white.  Her  eyes,  over  one  of  which  a  &m^ 
was  spread,  weite  duU  as  the  eyes  of  a  stale  fish,  and  her  temples 
so  hollow,  that  she  looked  as  if  she  had  been  worn  out  by  drag- 
ging the  last  two  generations  to  tiieir  grayes.  I  was  ashamed  of 
adding  one  more  to  the  many  burdens  she  must  have  borne  in 
her  day,  and  I  almost  wished  that  she  had  realized  in  her  own 
person  the  well-known  verse  ia  the  Scotch  song —  < 


"  f  he  auld  man's  mare's  dead, 
A  mile  ayoat  Dundee," 


'^^\'-r 


'f?f*i^ 


before  I  ever  had  set  eyes  upon  h^. 

"  Can  she  carry  us?"  said  I,  pausing  irresolutely,  with  my  foot 
on  the  rough  heavy  runner  of  the  cutter. 

"  I  guess  she  can,"  quoth  he.  ^^  She  will  skkn  like  a  bird  over 
the  snow ;  so  get  into  the  sleigh,  and  we  will  go  straight  off  to 
the  singing-school." 

It  was  intensely  cold.  I  drew  the  collar  of  my  great  coat 
over  my  ears,  and  wrapped  my  half  of  the  bull's  lude  well  round 
my  feet,  and  we  started.  The  old  mare  went  better  than  could 
have  been  expected  from  such  a  skeleton  of  a  beast.  To  be  sure, 
she  had  no  w^^t  of  flesh  to  encumber  her  motions,  and  we 
were  getting  on  pretty  well,  when  the  music  master  drove  too 
near  a  stump,  which  suddenly  upset  us  both,  and  tumbled  him 
head  foremost  into  a  bank  of  snow.  I  fortunately  rolled  out  a- 
top  of  him,  and  soon  extricated  myself  from  the  difficulty ;  bu4 
I  foimd  it  no  easy  matter  to  drag  my  ponderous  companion  from 
beneath  the  snow  and  the  old  bull's  hide,  in  which  he  was  comr; 
I^etely enveloped.  ,<?;  i    r ; 

The  old  mare  -stood  perfectly  still,  gazing  with  her  one  ^e 
intwtly  on  the  mischief  she  had  done,  as  if  she  never  had  been 
guilty  of  such  a  breach  of  manners  before.  After  shaking  th«^ 
BAOW  from  our  garmentsi,  and  getting  aU  right  for  a  second  starts 


•_ »_ 


uy;  wpiiwuOu  exuUuueu  iu  an  agOiuseu  tone— <> 


im  ur  THB  aiMAXKaaa. 


im 


^Mj  fiddle!  Where^  where  is  my  fiddle?  I  ean  do  noibing 
without  my  fiddle.** 

We  immediately  went  in  search  cf  it ;  but  we  did  not  sneoeed 
in  finding  it  for  some  time.  I  had  giren  it  up  in  despair,  and, 
half-frozMi  with  qold,  was  stepping  into  the  cutter  to  take  the 
benefit  of  the  old  bull's  hide,  when,  fortonately  for  the  mniio- 
master,  one  of  the  strings  of  the  lost  instrament  sasppeA  with 
the  cold.  We  followed  the  direction  of  the  sound,  and  socm  be- 
held the  poor  fiddle  sticking  in  a  snow  bank,  and  concealed  by  a 
projecting  stamp.  The  instrament  had  sostained  no  other  in- 
jury than  the  loss  of  three  6i  the  strings. 

"•  Well,  arn't  that  too  bad  t"  ss^  he.  *^  I  hare  no  more  eat* 
gut  without  sending  to  W— — .  That's  done  for,  at  least  for  to- 
night." 

t^ItV  very  cold,"  I  cried,  impatiently,  seeing  that  he  was  in 
no  hurry  to  move  on.  "  Do  let  us  be  going.  Ton  can  examine 
your  instrument  better  in  tiie  house  than  standing  up  to  your 
knees  in  the  snow." 

"  I  was  bom  in  the  backwoods,"  says  he ; "  I  don't  flael  the  cold." 
Then  jumping  into  the  cutter,  he  gave  me  the  fiddle  to  take  care 
of,  and  pointing  with  the  right  finger  of  his  (Httskin  gloves  to  a 
solitary  house  on  the  top  of  a  bleak  hUl,  nearly  a  xadle  a-head, 
he  said — "  That  white  building  is  the  place  whore  the  school  is 
held." 

We  soon  reached  the  spot.  "This  is  the  old  Methodist 
church,  mister,  and  a  capital  place  for  the  voice.  There  is  no 
furniture  or  hangings  to  interrupt  the  sound.  Go  right  in, 
while  I  hitch  the  mare;  I  will  be  arter  you  in  a  brace  of 
shakes." 

I  soon  found  myself  in  the  body  of  the  old  dilapidated  church, 
and  subjected  to  the  etare  of  a  number  of  very  unmusioal-lookiDg 
girls  and  boys,  who,  certainly  from  their  appearance,  would 
never  have  led  you  to  ^suppose  that  they  ever  could  belong  to  a 
Philharmonic  society.    Presently  Mr.  Browne  made  his  dihUt. 

'Assuming  an  air  of  great  importance  as  he  approached  his 
pupils,  he  said— r"  Ladies  and  gentlemen,  allow  me  to  introduce 

to  your  notice  Mr.  H ,  the  celebrated  vocalist.    He  has  omn 

all  the  way  from  New  York  on  purpose  to  hear  you  sing.'v,     ... 


108 


umt  nr  fHS  DLSABivos. 


i  . 


^- 


flie  loys  grinned  atum  And  tinirled  thidr  thnn^,  the  g^Is 
nudged  one  another^s  elbows  and  giggled,  wlole  their  dkiqnent 
teeeher  oontimied — 

!  "^  I  d(in*t  know  as  how  we  shall,  be  able  to  do  much  to-night : 
we  upset,  and  that  spilt  my  fiddle  into  the  snow.  Ton  Bee,'W 
holding  it  iqp-*-**  it's  right  AiU  of  it^  and  that  busted  the  strings. 
Jk  dntpeieal  fiddle  is  no  good^no  how.  Jist  look  at  the  water 
dd{^)ingont,ofha^"      ,  ,   . 

Again  the  boj»  kuighed^  and  the  giris  ipggled.    @i^  he—  - 

^^MiM  GBy  d<»^t,Jm(^f  it's  no  laughing  mat^,  ae  Ji^v^ 
find."  V     . 

After  a  long  j^use,  in  whidi,  the  youngsters  tried  their  best  to 
look  graye,  he  went  on— 

"  Now  all  of  you,  girls  and  boys,  give  your  attention  to  my 
instruotictni  iliis  ev^img.  I'm  goin'  to  introduce  a  new  style, 
for  your  special  benefit,  called  the  Pest-a-lazy  (Pestalozzi)  system, 
now  all  the  Miien.  If  you  are  all  ready,  produce  your  books. 
Hold  them  up.  One — ^two — ^threel  Three  books  for  forty 
pupilst  That  will  never  do!  We  can't  sing  to-night;  well, 
neyer  mind.  Ton  sm  that  black  bofffd;  I  will  give  you  a  lesson 
to-ni^  iqpon  that.    Who's  got  a  piece  of  chalk  ?" 

A  n^^tive  ishake  of  the  head  from  all.  To  me:  ** Chalk's 
scarce  in  these  dig^^ings.?'  To  the  boys :  '^  What,  nobody  got  a 
piece  of  chalk?  That's  unlucky ;  a  piece  of  charcoal  oat  of  the 
stove  will  do  as  well." 

"No  'ar  wcm't,"  roared  out  a  boy  with  a  very  ra^ed  coat. 
"They  be  both  the  same  colour^" 

"  True,  Jenkins,  for  you ;  go  out  and  get  a  lump  of  snow.  Its 
damation  strange  if  I  can't  fix  it  somehow." 

"Now,"  thought  I,  "what  is  this  clever  fellow  going  to  do?'* 

The  boys  winked  at  each  other,  and  a  murumr  of  suppressed 
laughter  ran  through  the  old  diurch.  Jenkins  ran  out,  and  soon 
retamed  ^th  a  lump  of  snow. 

Mr.  Browne  took  a  small  piece,  and  squeezing  it  tight,,  stuck 
it  upon  the  board.  "  Now,  boys,  that  is  Bo,  and  that  is  Be,  ibd 
that  is  Do  again,  and  that  is  30,  this  Bo,  and  that  Fa;  and  that, 
boys,  is  a  part  d?  what  we  call  a  ioaW^  Then  turning  to  a  tall, 
thin,  shabby-lookiuK  man.  Yonr  muobout  at  the  elbows,  whom  I 


il 


I 


uiB  nr  TBI  eiMAxnrtm, 


mi9 


had  not  Man  before,  he  Mld-^*^  Mr.  Stnith,  how  is  yonr  hemtiolf 
Hav^*t  yon  got  it  tuned  up  yet?*^ 

*^  Well,  sqnire,  I  gness  it^s  oomplete.** 

"Hold  on;  let  me  see,"  and  taJdog  a  toning-lbrk  from  his 
pocket,  and  e^Ting  it  a  stuirp  thnmp  npon  the  stove,  he  cried  out 
in  a  stiU  louder  key— *^Kow,  thatVA;  jfet  tone  up  to  A.'* 

Alter  Mr.  Smith  had  snooeeded  in  toning  his  instrament,  the 
teacher  proceeded  witii  his  lodd  explanations  i^-^^'Kow,  bc^s, 
start  fair ;  give  a  grand  chord:  What  sort  of  a  noise  do  yon  call 
that?  (giving  a  Inekless  hoy  a  ihnmp  over  the  head  with  bis 
fiddle-stick).  Ton  bray  throi^h  yonr-  nose  like  a  Jackass.  I  tell 
you  to  qnit;  I  don't  want  disedrd."  l%e  boy  Avak.  Oot  of  the 
class,  and  stood  blabbering  behind  the  door. 
.^t^Tone  np  again,  yoong  shavers  t  ^g  the  notes  as  I  have 
made  them  on  the  board,-— Do,  re-do,  mi,  do-fii.  Now,  when  I 
coimt  fonr,  commence.  One«-two— tiiree-^fonr.  Singl  Hold 
on  t'^hold  on  t  Don't  yon  see  that  all  the  notes  are  mnning  ofP*, 
and  yon  can't  eing  rnnhing  notes  yet." 

Here  he  was  interrnpted  by  the  noise  of  some  one  forcing  his 
way  into  the  ohnrch,  in  a  vety  strange  and  xmceremoidooB  man- 
ner, and 

"The  chorister's  song,  thai  late  was  HO  siiong. 
Grew  a  quaver  of  consternation." 


The  door  bnrst  open,  and  a  ghastly  head  was  protruded  through 
the  aperture.  "A  ghost  I— a  ghost!"  shrieked  ont  all  the  chil- 
dren in  a  breath;  and  jumping  over  the  forms,  they  hnddled 
around  the  stove,  upsetting  the  solitary  tallow  candle,  the  desk, 
and  the  bass  viol,  in  their  ffight.  One  lad  spruig  right  apon  the 
unfortunate  instrument,  which  broke  to  pieces  with  a  terrible 
crash.  We  were  now  left  in  the  Aatk.  The  £^rls  screamed,  and 
clung  round  me  for  protection,  while  the  ghastly  apparition  con- 
tinued to  stare  upon  ns  through  the  gloom,  with  its  large,  hollow 
eyes.  I  must  confess  that  I  felt  rather  queer;  but  I  wisely  kept 
my  fears  to  myself  while  I  got  as  far  from  the  door  as  I  possibly 
could.  Just  as  our  t^ror  had  reached  a  climax,  the  grizdy 
.utteisad  a  low-  whining  neiidi.  , .,  . . ..    ., 


uo 


Ura  IH  fBS  eLlABZKOB. 


'  ^ lt*0  the  old  marel  Fll  be  damed  if  it  isnHi'*  eried one  ot 
the  older  boys,  at  the  top  of  his  yoice.  This  restored  confidenoe 
to  the  rest ;  and  one  rather  bolder  than  his  comrades  at  length 
yentnred  to  relight  the  fallen  candle  at  the  stove,  and  holding  it 
up,  displayed  to  our  view  the  old  white  mare,  standing  in  the 
doorway.  Tlie  poor  beasthad  forced  her  way  into  the  porch  to 
protect  herself  from  the  cold;  and  she  looked  at  her  master,  as  ' 
mueh  as  to  say^  '^I  have  a  stfmding  aoooont  agdnst  you."  No 
doubt  she  wonld  have  been  highly  tidded,  could  she  have  known 
that  her  sadden  intrunon  had  been  the  means  of  shortening  her 
term  of  probation  by  at  least  half  an  hour,  and  Of  bringing  the 
singing-school  to  a  dose.  She  had  been  the  innocent  cause  of 
disabling  both  the  musical  instruments,  and  Mr.  Browne  could 
not  raise  a  correct  note  without  tiiem.  Turning  to  his  pupils, 
vriih  a  vei^'mefnl  countenance,  and  speaking  in  a  very  unmusical 
voice,  but  very  ezpressdve  withal,  he  said — ^*Ohore  (meaning 
dioir),  you  are  dismiss^.  But,  hold  onl— don^t  be  in  such  a 
damation  hurry  to  be  off.  I  was  a-going  to  tell  you,  this  ere 
gentleman,  Mr.  H— —  (my  name,  for  a  wonder,  popping  into  his 
head  at  that'  minute)  is  to^ve  a  eon-^ort  to-morrow  night.  It 
was  to  have  been  to-night ;  but  he  changed  his  mind,  that  he 
might  have  the  pleasure  of  hearing  you.    I  shall  assist  Mr.^v 

H in  the  singing  department ;  so  you  must  all  be  sure  to 

cum.  Tickets  for  boys  over  ten  years,  twenty-five  cents ;  under 
ten,  twelve  and  a  half  cents.  So  you  Uetle  chaps  will  know  what 
to  do.  The  next  time  the  school  meets  will  be  when  the  fiddles 
are  fixed.  Now  scamper."  The  children  were  not  long  in  obey- 
ing the  order.  In  the  twinkling  of  an  eye  they  were  off,  and  wo 
heard  them  shouting  and  skylarking  in  the  lane. 

"  Oum,  Mr.  H— — i,"  sfdd  tlie  music-master,  buttoning  his  great- 
coat up  to  bis  chin,  "  let  us  be  a-goin'." 

On  reaching  the  spot  where  we  had  left  the  cutter,  to  our 
great  disappointment,  we  found  only  one-half  of  it  remaining ; 
the  other  half,  broken  to  pieces,  strewed  the  ground.  Wt*^ 
Browne  detained  me  for  another  half-hour,  in  gathering  together 
the  fragments.  "Now  you,  Mr.  Smith,  you  take  care  of  the 
crippled  fiddles,  while  I  take  care  of  the  bag  of  oats.  The  old 
mare  has  been  trvbff  to  hook  them  out  of  the  cutter,  which  has 


?S!^" 


uwm  nr  the  mjuaaxaBi. 


lU 


f^ 


been  the  eause  of  all  the  trouble.  Yon,  Mr.  H— — ^  mount  np 
on  the  old  jade,  and  take  alonj^the  bull's  hide,  and  we  will  fol- 
low on  foot." 

"Tes,"  said  I,  "and  glad  of  theohanoe;  for  I  am  cold  and 
tired." 

Not  knowing  a  step  of  the  way,  I  Jlet  Hr.  Browne  and  his 
companion  go  a-head;  and  making  a  sort  of  paok-saddle  of  the 
old  hide,  I  onrled  myself  np  on  the  back  of  the  old  mare,  and 
left  her  to  her  own  paoe,  which,  however,  was  a  pre^w  ronnd 
trot,  until  we  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  town,  Wi;ei'e,  dis- 
mounting, I  thanked  my  companions,  very  insinoerely  Vm  afraid, 
for  my  evening's  amusement,  and  joined  my  Mends  at  the  hotel, 
who  were  never  tired  of  hearing  me  recount  my  adventures  at 
the  singing-sdhooL 

I  had  been  obliged  to  postpone  my  own  concert  until  the  next 
evening,  for  I  found  the  borrowed  piano  such  a  poor  one,  and  so 
miserably  out  of  tune,  that  it  took  me  several  hours  to  render  it 
at  all  fit  £»:  service.  Before  I  had  concluded  my  task,  I  was 
favoured  with  the  company  of  Mr.  Browne,  who  stuck  to  me 
closer  than  a  brother,  never  allowing  me  out  of  his  sight  for  a 
moment.  This  persevering  attention,  so  little  in  unison  with  my 
feelings,  caused  me  the  most  insufferable  annoyance.  A  thous- 
and times  I  was  on  the  point  of  dismissing  him  very  unceremoni- 
ously, by  informing  him  that  I  thought  him  a  most  conceited, 
impertinent  puppy ;  but  for  the  sake  of  my  friend  Roberts,  who 
was  in  some  way  related  to  the  fellow,  I  contrived  to  master  my 
anger.  About  four  o'clock  he  jumped  up  from  the  table,  at 
which  he  had  been  lounging  and  sipping  hot  punch  at  my 
expense  for  the  last  hour,  exclaiming — 

"  I  guess  it's  time  for  me  to  see  the  pee-a-ne  carried  up  to  the 
con-sort  room." 

"It's  all  ready,"  said  I.  "Perhaps,  Mr.  Browne,  yon  will 
oblige  me  by  sin^g  a  song  before  the  company  arrives,  that  I 
may  judge  how  f&r  your  style  and  mine  will  agree ;"  for  I  began 
to  have  some  horrible  misgivings  on  the  subject.  "If  you  will 
step  up  stairs,  I  will  accompany  you  'on  the  piano.  I  had  no 
opportunity  of  hearing  you  slug  last  night." 


J>No,  no,"  said  he,  with  a  conceited 


Inncrb 


l(  T   maan    fi 


to 


112 


Un  IV  TBB  0LBAIUN68. 


astoniih  yoa  by  and  by.  Fm  not  one  of  yonr  common 
amateurs,  no  bow.  I  shall  prodnoe  qaite  a  sensation  npon  yonr 
andience." 

So  saying,  he  darted  throngh  the  door,  and  left  me  to  finish 
my  arrangements  for  the  night. 

The  hour  appointed  for  the  concert  at  length  arrived.  It  Was 
a  dear,  tcoetj  n^ht,  Hm  moon  diining  as  bright  as  day.  A 
great  number  of  persons  were  collected  about  the  doors  of  the 
hotel,  and  I  had  every  reason  to  expect  a  fnU  house.  I  was 
giving  some  directions  to  my  d^r^-keeper,  when  I  heard  a 
double  sleigh  approaching  at  an  uncommon  rate;  and  looking 
np  the  road,  I  saw  an  old-fashioned,  hVh-badted  vehicle,  drawn 
by  two  shabby-looking  horses,  coming  towards  the  hotel  at  full 
gallop.  The  passengers  evidently  thought  that  they,  were  too 
late,  and  ^ere  making  np  for  lost  time. 

The  driver  was  an  old  ilirmer,  and  dressed  in  the  cloth  of  the 
country,  with  a  largie  capote  of  the  same  material  drawn  over 
his  head  and  weather-beaten  face,  which  left  his  sharp  black 
eyes,  red  nose,  and  wide  mouth  alone  visible.  He  flourished  in 
his  hand  a  large  whip  of  raw-Ude,  which  evcir  and  anon  de- 
scended upon  the  backs  of  his  raw-boned  cattle  like  the  strokes 
of  a  flail. 

"  Get  up — go  along — ^waye,"  cried  he,  suddenly  drawing  up  at 
the  door  of  the  hotel.  "  Well,  here  we  be  at  last,  and  jist  in 
time  for  the  con-isort.'*  Then  hitching  the  horses  to  the  post, 
and  flinging  the  bnfBlJo  robes  over  them,  he  left  the  three 
females  he  was  driving  in  the  sleigh,  and  ran  directly  up  to 
me, — "  Am't  yon  the  con-sort  man?  I  guess  you  be,  by  them 
ere  black  pants  and  Bunday-goin*  gear." 

I  nodded  assent. 

"What's  the  damage?" 

"Half  a  dollar." 

"  Half  A  dollar  ?    Ton  don't  mean  to  say  that  I" 

"  Not  a  cent  less."  ^^ 

"  Well,  it  will  be  expenme.  There's  my  wife  and  two  darters, 
and  myself;  and  the  gals  never  seed  a  con-sort." 

"  Well,"  said  I,  "  as  there  are  four  of  you,  yoa  may  come  in  at 
a  d<d]ar  and  a  half." 


I 


.l'< 


r. 

I 


'.f 


UFB  IV  TBS  OUAMVOe. 


as 


*'  How;  A  dollar  and  a  harfl  I  will  go  and  havo  a  talk  with 
the  old  woman,  and  hear  what  she  says  to  it." 

He  returned  to  the  sleigh,  and  after  chatting  for  a  few  minutes 
with  the  women,  he  helped  them  out,  and  the  fonr  followed  me 
into  the  recoptbn  room  of  the  inn.  The  farmer  placed  a  pail  of 
batter  on  the  table,  and  said  with  a  shrewd  onrl  of  hia  long  nose, 
and  a  wink  from  one  of  his  conning  black  eyes,  "There^s  some 
pretty  good  butter,  nuster.'* 

I  was  amnsed  at  the  idea,  and  replied,  "  Prettff  good  "butter  ! 
Whatistiiattome?    I  do  not  bny  biitter.9 

**Kot  bny  bntt^l  Why  yon  don't  say  I  It  is  the  very  best 
article  in  the  market  jist  now.** 

For  a  bit  of  fan  I  said, — '*  Never  mind ;  I  will  take  yoar  bntter. 
What  is  it  worth  ?" 

"  It  was  worth  ten  cents  laat  week,  mister ;  I  don't  know  what 
it's  worth  now.    It  can't.haye  fallen,  nohow.^ 

I  took  my  knife  from  my  pocket,  and  in  a  very  basinese-like 
manner  proceeded  to  taste  the  article.  "Why,"  said  I,  "this 
batter  is  not  good." 

Here  a  sharp-faced  woman  stepped  briskly  np,  and  poking  her 
head  between  ns,  sfdd  at  the  highest  pitch  of  her  cracked  voices 
— "  Yes,  it  is  good;  it  was  made  this  morning  a^esa-ly  for  the 
consorV 

"  I  beg  yoar  pardon,  madam.  I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  baying 
batter.  To  oblige  yoa,  I  will  take  this*  How  mach  is  l^ere 
ofitt" 

"  I  don't  know.    Where  are  yoar  steelyards?" 

"Oh,"  said  I  lattghing,  "I  don't  carry  snch  things  with  me. 
I  will  take  it  at  your  own  valuation,  and  you  may  go  in  with 
your  femily." 

"'Tis  a  bargain,"  says  he.  "Go  in,  gak,  and  fix  yourselves 
for  the  WMorV'* 

, ,  As  the  room  was  fast  filling,  I  thought  it  time  to  present  myself 
to  the  company,  and  made  my  entrance,  accompanied  by  that  in- 
corrigible pest,  tbe  nn^ng-master,  who,  wiUiout  the  l^t  embar- 
rassment, took  his  seat  by  the  piano.  After  nnging  several  of 
my  best  spngs,  I  invited  him  to  try  hia^kill. 


m  Un  m  THX  OUAMNGS. 

**  Obj  oertaiDlj)^  said  m  ;  **  To  teU  yon  ttie  troth,  I  am  a  UttU 
inrprised  that  yon  did  not  ask  me  to  lead  oS,** 

j*  I  would  have  done  so;  bnt  I  oonld  not  alter  the  arrangemoit 
of  the  programme." 

"Ah,  well,  I  exoim  yoa  this  lime,  but  it  was  not  very  polite, 
to  say  the  least  of  it." 

Then,  taking  his  seat  at  the  piano  with  as  mnch  confidence  as 
Braham  ever  had,  he  ran  his  hand  over  the  keys,  exolaiming 
**  What  shall  I  sing  ?  I  will  give  yon  one  of  BosseU's  songs ;  they 
snit  my  voice  best.  X^adies  and  gentlemen,  I  am  going  to  favor 
yon  by  singing  Henry  Bnssell^s  celebrated  song,  "  Ilove  to  roam,''^ 
and  accompany  myself  npon  the  pee-a^ne-forty." 

This  song  is  so  w^  known  to  most  of  my  readers,  that  I  can 
describe  l^i^  manner  of  singing  it  without  repeating  the  whole  of 
the  words.  He  struck  the  instrument  in  playing  with  such  vio- 
lence that  it  shook  hi«  whole  body,  and  produced  the  following 
ludicrous  effect: — 

"  Some  love  to  xo-o-o-a-me  ,  ' 

O'er  the  dark  sea  fo^o-ome, 

Where  the  shill  winds  whistle  fre-e-e-e ; 
But  a  cho-o-sen  ba-a-and  in  a  mountain  la-a-a-and, 
And  U£9  in  the  woo-o-ds  for  me-e-e." 

This  performance  was  drowned  in  an  uproar  of  laughter,  which 
brought  our  vocalist  to  a  sudden  stop. 

"I  won't  sing  another  line  if  yon  keep  up  that  infernal  noise," 
the  roared  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  "  When  a  fellow  does  his  best 
he  expects  hisaudience  to  appreciate  his  performance ;  but  I  allers 
he'rd  as  how  the  folks  at  W— — knew  nothing  about  music.'?^ 
Oh,  do  stop,"  exclaimed  an  old  woman,  rising  from  her  seat, 
and  shaking  her  fist  at  the  unruly  company, — "  can't  yee's ;  he 
do  sing  lmtiful\  and  his  voice  in  the  winds  do  sound  so  TMturalt 
I  could  almost  hear  them  an  'owling.  It  minds  me  of  old  times, 
it  dew." 

This  voluntary  tribute  to  his  genius  seemed  to  console  and  re-^ 
assure  the  singing  master,  and,  stemming  with  his  stentorian 
voice  the  torrent  of  mistimed  mirth,  he  sang  his  song  triumph- 


i 


p™"*^*"-^*^ 


UWU  IN  THB  OLBAMlfOS. 


115 


anily  to  the  end;  and  the  olappiiig  of  hinds,  ftamping  of  fbet 
and  knoddng  of  bendies,  <rere  trnly  deafbning. 

"•  What  wiH  yon  hare  now  f  **  cried  he.  **  I  thooght  yon  wonld 
comprehend  good  singing  at  hut." 

"  Give  them  a  oomio  song,"  said  I,  in  a  whisper.  ' 

"  A  eomie  vmg  !  (alond)  Do  yon  think  that  I  wonld  waste  my 
talents  in  ringing  trasL  that  any  jankaSs  oonld  bray  t  No,  sirra, 
my  style  is  purely  trntimental.  I  will  give  the  ladies  and  gentle- 
men the  "jfi>y  Chremy 

He  sang  this  beaufifol  original  song,  which  is  decidedly  Bns- 
sell's  best,  mnch  in ^e  same  style  as  the  former  one;  but 
getting  a  little  nsed  to  his  eccentridties,  we  contriyed  to  keep 
onr  gravity  nntil  he  came  to  the  choms,  **  Creeping,  creeping, 
creeping,"  for  which  he  sabstitnted,  "  crawling,  crawling,  crawl- 
ing," when  he  was  again  intermpted  by  snch  a  burst  of  merri- 
menit  that  he  was  nnable  to  crawl  any  fhrther. 

"  WeU,"  said  he,  rising;  "if  you  won't  behave,  I  Will  leave 
the  instrument  to  Mr.  H— — ,  and  make  one  of  the  audience.'* 

He  had  scarcely  taken  his 'seat,  when  the  £armer  from  whom 
I  had  bought  the  butter  forced  his  way  up  to  the  piano.  Says 
'  he,  "  There's  that  pail ;  it  is  worth  ten  cents  and  a  half.  You 
must  either  pay  the  money,  or  ^ve  me  back  the  palL  (EQtching 
up  his  nether  garments) — ^I  s'pose  you'll  do  the  thing  that's 
right?" 

"Oh,  certfdnly,  there  are  twelve  and  a  half  cents." 
'  "  I  haven't  change,"  said  he,  with  a  knowing  look. 

"  So  much  the  better ;  keep  the  diflference.'** 

"Then  we're  square,  mister,"  and  he  sank  back  into  his 
place. 

"Did  he  pay  you  the  money  t"  I  heard  the  Wife  ask  in  an 
anxious  tone. 

"Yes,  yes;  more  than  the  old  pdl  was  worth  by  a  long  chalk 
I'd  like  to  deal  with  that  chap  allers." 

I  now  proceeded  with  the  concert.  The  song  of  the  drown- 
ing child  saved  by  the  Newfoundland  dog,  drew  down  thunders 
of  applause.  When  the  clamour  had  a  little  subsided,  a  tall  man 
rose  from  his  seat  at  the  upper  end  of  the  room,  and,  after  clear- 
ing his  throat  with  several  loud  hems,  he  thus  addressed  me, — 


■*■■] 


\. 


ne 


Un  a  TBI  OLBARIVaS. 


h 


r 


"How  A9  f on  do,  Mr. H-~ —  t  I  ftm  glad,  sir,  to  make  yonr 
Acqnaintaiioe.  Tbb  it  ray  friend,  ICr.  Derby,"  drawing  aaotlier 
tan  man  o(»ifi]ileuoti8ly  forward  before  all  tbe  spocf-^ttors.  **  He, 
tew,  is  very  happy  to  make  your  aoquaintiirao.  We  both  want 
kuow  if  that  dog  yoa  have  been  singing  aboat  belongs  to  yon. 
If  80,  we  (i^<«iild  be  glad  to  buy  a  pup."  He  gravely  took  his 
seat,  amid  perlMit  yells  of  applause.  It  was  impossible  to  be 
heard  in  sooh  a  riot,  and  I  elosed  the  adventures  of  the  eveninf; 
by  giving  ont  "*Hail,  Oolnmbia,'  to  be  song  by  all  pref*'">i  ' 
TMsJinah  gave  nniversal  satisfaction,  and  the  voice  of  ir .,  ft^**.  a 
the  singlng>master  might  be  heard  &r  above  the  rest.      ;fip'-^ 

I  was  foroed,  in  common  politeness,  to  invite  XI  Browne  co 
partake  of  the  <^ster  sapper  I  had  providei^.  ■'..■■■  jy  friends 
from  V*— -%  "Will  you  join  oor  part;  this  evening,  "Vb. 
Browne  f " 

"  Oh,  by  all  manner  of  means,"  said  he,  mbbing  his  hands 
together  in  a  s(Nrt  of  ecstasy  of  aaticipadon ;  "  I  knew  that  yon 
would  do  the  thing  handsome  at  last.  I  have  not  tasted  an  i'ster 
since  I  sang  at  Mblo^s  in  iKTew  Yoric  But  did  we  not  come  on 
famously  at  the  eon^sort  t  Oonfess,  now,  that  I  beat  you  holler. 
Ton  sing priiiy  wdl,  but  you  want  confidence.  Ton  dcm't  give 
expression  enough  to  your  voice.  The  applause  which  followed 
my  first  song  was  tremendous." 

"  I  never  heard  anything  like  it,  "iSx.  Browne.  I  never  expect 
to  merit  such  marks  of  public  approbation." 

"All  in  good  tibne,  my  hetU  friend,"  returned  he,  clapping  me 
familiarly  on  the  (Moulder.  "  Borne  was  not  built  in  a  day,  and 
you  are  a  yoimg  man— a  very  young  man — and  very  tnuill  for 
your  age.  Your  voice  will  never  have  the  volume  and  compass 
of  mine.  But  I  smell  the  iV:  3;  l<^^»  in,  for  I'm  tarnation 
hungry."  ^ 

Gentle  reader!  yon  would  .  ao  .j&tsotoiiaveseenhim 
eat.  My  companions  looked  rather  disconcerted  at  the  rapiditj^. 
with  which  they  disappeared  within  his  capacious  jaws.  After 
satisfying  his  enormous  appetite,  he  washed  down  the  oysterf, 
with  long  draughts  of  porter,  until  his  brain  becoming  affected, 
he  8:^'ung  his  huge  body  back  in  his  chair,  and,  placing  his  feet 


!&y 


0*1     ♦1  -• 


^wy^yv^      ^A..«%4k(«4>  yfcyw^     ^vr% 


IJWU 


A«H«,~ 


cn^ti 


UFB  IH  TBI  OLBARXVOt. 


117 


song  in  partiotilar,  bat  a  miztnre  of  all  that  had  apfMarad  \n  tho 
most  po  ,i]>)r  Yankee  »ong  books  for  tha  last  ten  years. 

I  wish  I  oonld  crive  you  a  apeoimen  of  the  rabHme  and  the 
ridioulu>  i,  thna  uuceremonioasly  hnddled  together.  The  effect 
was  80  irreristiWo,  vrhen  ooatraitad  with,  the  gTare  exterior  of 
the  maOf  that  wu  Utnghed  until  our  sides  aobed  at  his  absordities. 
Erbansted  by  his  constant  vociferations,  the  mnsioian  at  le  ^  li 
dropped  from  his  ohair  in  a  drunken  sleep  npon  the  floor,  an. 
we  carried  him  hito  the  next  room  and  pnt  him  to  bed ;  and, 
after  talking  orer  the  events  of  the  evening,  we  retired  about 
midnight  to  ow  respective  chambers,  which  all  opened  into  tho 
great  room  in  which  I  held  the  concert. 

Abont  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  my  sleep  was  distn  bed  by 
the  most  dismal  cries  and  groans,  wbioh  a|^)eared  to  issue  from 
the  adjoining  apartment.  I  mbbed  ray  eyes,  and  sat  np  in  tJie 
bed  and  listened,  when  I  recognised  t>he  well-known  voice  of 
the  singing  master,  exclaiming  in  tones  of  agony  and  fear — 
"Landlord!  landlord!  onm  qnick.  Somebody  cnm.  Landlord! 
landlord!  there's  a  man  nnder  my  bee.  Oh,  Lord!  I  shall  be 
murdered!  amannnder  my  bed!" 

As  I  am  not  fond  of  snch  noctnmal  visitors  myself,  not  being 
much  gifted  with  physical  strength  or  courage,  I  listened  a  mo- 
ment to  hear  if  any  one  was  coming.  The  sound  of  approach- ' 
ing  footsteps  along  the  passage  greatly  aided  the  desperate 
effort  I  made  to  leave  my  comfortable  pillow,  and  proceed  to 
the  scene  of  action.  At  the  chamber  door  I  met  the  landlord, 
armed  with  the  fire-tongs  and  a  light 

*'  What's  all  this  noise  abont?"  he  cried  in  ^  angry  tone. 

I  assured  him  that  I  was  as  ignorant  as  hinself  of  the  cause 
of  the  disturbance.  Here  the  singing  n-aster  again  sung 
out —  ''^ 

"Landlord!  landlord!  there's  a  man  under  the  hed.  Cum! 
somebody  cum!"  '>. 

"We  immediately  entered  his  room,  and  were  joined  by  two  of 

my  friends  from  W .    Seeing  our  party  strengthened  to  four, .. 

our  courage  rose  amazingly,  and  we  talked  lordly  of  makings 
mincemeat  of  the  intruder,  kicking  him  down  st&irs,  and  tortur- 

*  m  9 


M 


.>.«i;i   Aa 


xtr^  e^w,'~.x  4.V.  sS^^T.- 


ISg  uuu  !u  6V€ry  way  we  COuia   uwiov.       nv  &wuuu    mio   biu^ui^ 


118 


UnS  IN  THB  OLBABINGS. 


1 


I 

*, 

■ 


master  sitting  bolt  upright  in  his  bed,  his  small-clothes  gathered 
up  under  his  arm  ready  for  a  start ;  his  fioce  as  pale  as  a  sheet, 
his  teeth  chattering^  and  his  whole  appearance  indicative  of  the 
most  abject  fear.  We  certainly  did  hear  very  mysterious  sounds 
issuing  from  beneath  the  bed,  which  caused  the  boldest  of  us  to 
draw  back. 

*'He  is  right,"  said  Boberts;  "there  is  some  one  under 
the  bed." 

"  What  a  set  of  confounded  cowards  you  are!"  cried  the  land- 
lord; "  can't  you  lift  the  valance  and  see  what  it  is  ?"  ,^ 

He  made  no  effort  himself  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  alarm, 
lioberts,  who,  after  all,  was  the  boldest  man  of  the  party,  seized 
the  tongs  from  the  landlord,  and,  kneeling  cantiously  down, 
slowly  raised  the  drapery  that  surroimded  the  bed.  "  Hold  the 
light  here,  landlord."  He  did  so,  but  at  arm's  length.  Roberts 
peeped  timidly  into  the  dark  void  beyond,  dropped  the  valance, 
and  looked  up  with  a  comical,  quizzing  expression,  and  began 
to  laugh.  ^ 

"  What  is  it  8"  we  all  cried  in  a  breath. 

" Landlord  1  landlord!"  he  cried,  imitating  the  voice  of  the 
singing  ma^r,  "cum  quick  1  Somebody  cum!.  There's  a  dog 
under  the  bed!  He  will  bite  me!  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  I  shall 
die  of  hydrophobia.    I  shall  be  smothered  in  a  feather-bed !" 

"  A  dog  1"  said  the  landlord. 

"  A  dog!"  cried  we  all.  ^ 

"  Aye,  a  black  dog." 

"  You  don't  say !"  cried  the  singing  master,  springing  from  his 
bed.  "  Where  is  he?  I'm  able  for  him  any  liow."  And  seizing 
a  corn  broom  that  stood  in  a  corner  of  the  room,  he  began  to 
poke  at  the  poor  animal,  and  belabour  him  in  the  most  unmerci- 
ful manner. 

The  dog,  who  belonged  to  a  drover  who  penned  his  cattle  in 
the  inn-yard  for  the  night,  wishing  to  find  a  comfortable  domi- 
cile, had  taken  a  private  survey  of  the  premises  when  the  people 
were  out  of  the  way,  and  made  his  quarters  under  Mr.  Browne's 
bed.  When  that  worthy  commenced  snoring,  the  dog,  to  signify 
his  approbation  at  finding  himself  in  the  company  of  some  one. 
amused  hiniself  by  hoisting  his  tail  up  and  down ;  now  striking 


)  1 


p  .f 


?  i\  f- ',''». ii;.' 


■  ) 


UUra  XH  THS  OLBARINOB. 


lie 


the  sacking  of  the  bed,  and  now  tapping  audibly  against  the 
floor.  These  mysterious  salutations  became,  at  length,  so  fre- 
quent and  vehement  that  they  awoke  the  sleeper,  who,  not 
daring  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  the  alarm,  aroused  the  whole 
house  with  bis  clamours. 

Mr.  Browne  finding  himself  unable  to  thrash  the  poor  brute 
out.  of  his  retreat,  and  having  become  all  of  a  sudden  very  brave, 
crawled  under  the  bed  and  dragged  the  dog  out  by  his  hind 


"You  see  Vm  enough  fbr  him;  give  me  the  poker,  and  I'll 
beat  out  his  brains." 

"  You'll  do  no  suoh  thing,  sir,"  said  the  landlord,  turning  the 
animal  down  the  stairs.  "The  dog  belongs  to  a  quiet  decent 
fellow,  and  a  good  customer,  and  he  shall  meet  with  no  HI  uisago 
here.  "Your  mountain,  Mr.  Browne,  has  brought  forth  a 
mouse."  ... 

"A  dog,  sir,"  quoth  the  singing  master,  not  in  the  least 
abashed  by  the  reproof.  "  If  the  brute  had  cat  up  such  a  dido 
under  your  bed,  you  would  have  been  as  'tumal  skeared  as  I 


)> 


was. 

"Perhaps,  Mr.  Browne,"  said  I,  "you  took  it  for  the  ghost  of 
the  old  mare?" 

"Ghost  or  no  ghost,"  returned  the  landlord,  "he  has  given 
us  a  great  deal  of  trouble,  aud  nearly  frightened  himself  into 
fits." 

"  The  fear  was  not  all  on  my  side,"  said  the  indignant  vocal 
ist ;  "  aud  I  look  upon  you  as  the  cause  of  the  whole  trouble." 

"As  how?" 

"  If  the  dog  had  not  cum  to  your  house,  he  never  would  havt 
found  his  way  under  my  bed.  When  I  pay  for  my  night's  lodg- 
ing, I  don't  expect  to  have  to  share  it  with  a  strange  dog — no 
how." 

So  saying  he  retreated,  grumbling,  back  to  his  bed,  and  we 
gladly  followed  his  example. 

I  rose  early  in  the  morning  to  accompany  my  friends  to 

"W .    At  the  door  of  the  hotel  I  was  accosted  by  Mr. 

Browne— 
."Why,  you  am't  goin*  to  start  without  bidding  me  good- 


..  'i 


i  .'.  i 


,»^  ^.  . .  >."..  4  .r,.,.^-,  K 


180 


Uffl  ttt  TBM  CLBAXaOfL 


byet    B&idM^yvBL  iuen  not  litid me  tta  my aarirtmee  at  ^e 

I  ttteraUy  started  witii  tforj^ise  at  flidB  imexpeoted  demand. ' 
**  Do  yon  ezpeot  a  proliaMioiud  {Mrfoe  finr  yom*  aerviiMef* 

**  Wdl,  I  gaess  the  «M»*«ort  would  hare  been  notibing  withont 
my  ]ie3^;  bvt  I  w<m^  l>e  hard  npon  yon,  as  ^on  are  a  yoqng 
bi^mier,  and  not  likely 'tb  make  yonr  fortune  in  tiiat  Hne  any 
how .  Thwe^B  that  paU  of  butler ;  if  yon  dtoi^  mean  to  take  it 
along)  I*n  jake  that;  we  wants  bntter  to  hnm.    Is  it  a  bargiunf" 

^^Oby  yea;  If  yon  are  salisfied,  I  aba  well  pleased.**  (I  conld 
have  added,  to  get  rid  of  yon  at  any  price.)  **Ton  wQl  find  it 
on  the  table  in  the  hall." 

**  Not  eocactly ;  I  took  it  hmn  iliis  mondng— I  thought  how  it 
wonld  enl^.  Qood*bye  to  yon,  Mr.  H-*— .  If  ?!-^  yon  come 
this  way  again,  I  shidl  be  happy  to  lend  yonmy  h.  v  -^tnoe." 

I  never  viedted  that  part  of  the  oonntry  ftii;ee,  l>at  I  hare  no 
donbt  that  Mr.  Browne  is  bni^  in  bis  yooatiun,  and  flatter- 
ing himself  tliat  he  is  one  of  the  first  vocaHsts  in  the  TTnioii.  I 
think  be  should  change  his  residence,  and  setde  down  for  ^  in 
JSfew  JBarmany, 

TO  ADEUODE,* 

A  BXAimVDL  TOVNO  CANADIAN  UCDIt. 

**  Yes,  ibott  art  young,  and  paaidng  fair ; 

Bat  time,  that  bkU  all  UoMwns  iad«, 
Will  rob  thee  of  the  rich  and  rare ; 

Then  liat  to  me,  sweet  Adelaide. 
He  Bteala  the  wow  from  poliah'd  brow, 

From  soft  bewitching  eyes  the  blue, 
From  smiling  lips  their  ruby  glow, 

From  velvet  cheeks  their  rosy  hue. 

'*  (Hi,  who  shall  cheek  the  spoiler's  power  ? 
'Tis  more  than  conquering  love  may  dare ; 
He  flatters  round  youtii's  summer  bower, 
And  rdfns  o'er  hearts  like  summer  fair. 


*  19MdaB|bterorOoIonelOoIiBnMa,ofBeIletffle;  now  Mn.  lasloo. 


Lira  ts  nn:  0LBABINO8. 

.Ha  banlnr  hiinneif  ih  mumy  eyeti, 

Hides  'mid  bright  looks,  aod  dimpled  smiles ; 
Fxom  Bf»  he  q^eads  his  wings  and  flies,— 
Forgets  soft  vows,  and  pretty  wiles. 

**  The  charms  of  mind  are  ever  young, 

Their  beauty  never  owns  decay ; 
The  fairest  form  by  poet  sung, 

Bdbre  their  power  must  fade  away. 
The  mind  immortal  wins  from  time 

Fresh  beauties  as  its  years  ^vanee ; 
Its  flowers  blqom  fresh  in  erery  clime— 

They  cannot  yield  to  change  and  chance. 

"  E'en  over  loin's  «aprioious  boy 

They  hold  an  uudiminish'd  sway ; 
For  chill  and  storm  can  ne'er  destroy      <.    •>. 

The  blossoms  of  eternal  day. 
Then  deem  these  charms,  sweet  Adelaide, 

The  brightest  gems  in  beauty's  zone  : 
Hake  these  thine  oWn, — all  others  fbde ; 

They  live  when  youth  and  grace  wre  flown.*' 


In 


■.;>■•?   ■ 


CHAPTER  Vn. 


MOn— on  I— for  ever  brightly  on, 
Thy  lucid  wave*  are  flowing ; 
Thy  vatera  sparlde  as  tliey  ran, 
llieir  long,  long  joarney  going." 


8.  BI. 


'*■•.-  :fc  - 


Ws  have  rounded  Oz  Point,  and  Belleville  is  no  longer  in 
sight.  The  steamboat  has  stmok  into  mid  channel,  and  the  bold 
shores  of  the  Prince  Edward  district  are  before  us.  Calmly  we 
glide  on,  and  idands  and  headlands  seem  to  recede  from  ns  as  we 
advance ;  and  now  they  are  &r  in  the  distance,  half  seen  through 


ii»Aaw«ii!«* 


the  warm  pnrple  haze  t^ftt  rests  so  d 

waters.    Heaven  is  above  ns,  and  another  heayeor-mare  aof!;| 


upvZi  rTCOuS   oiiu 


1S3 


UTI  IK  XBB  OLBABIKOS. 


,.<f. 


and  not  less  beantiM— Uea  xnifrored  beneath;  and  within  that 
heaven  are  traced  exquisite  forms  of  earth — ^treee,  and  flowers, 
and  verdant  slopes,  and  bold  hills,  and  barren  rugged  rocks. 
The  scene  is  one  of  surpassing  loveliness,  and  we  o/pen  oar  hearts 
to  receive  its  sweet  influences,  while  our  eyes  rest  upon  it  with 
intense  delight,  and  the  inner  voice  of  the  soul  whispers — Qod  is 
here  t  Dost  thou  not  catch  the  reflection*  of  his  glory  in  this 
superb  picture  of  Nature's  own  painting,  while  the  harmony  that 
surrounds  his  throne  is  faintly  echoed  by  the  warm  balmy  wind 
that  stirs  the  lofty  branches  of  the  woods,  and  the  waves  that 
swell  and  break  in  gentle  undulations  against  these  rocky  isles  ? 

^,  "  So  mniled  the  heavens  upon  the  vestal  earth, 

The  mom  she  rpse  exuUing  from  her  birth ; 
A  living  harmony,  »  porfeot  plftfi 
Of  power  and  beauty,  ere  the  rebd  man 
Defiled  with  sin,  and  stain'd  with  kindred  blood, 
The  paradise  his  QqA  pronounced  as  good." 

That  rugged  point  to  the  left  contains  a  fine  quarry  of  limestone, 
which  supplies  excellent  building  materials.  The  stones  are 
brought  by  the  means  of  a  scow,  a  very  broad  flat-bottomed 
boat,  to  Belleville,  where  they  are  sawn  into  square  blocks,  and 
dressed  for  door  sills  and  facings  of  houses.  A  little  further  on, 
the  Salmon  river  discharges  its  waters  into  the  bay,  and  on  its 
shores  the  village  of  Shannonville  has  risen,  as  if  by  magic, 
within  a  very  few  years.  Three  schooners  are  just  now  an- 
chored at  its  mouth,  receiving  cargoes  of  sawn  lumber  to  carry 
over  to  Asmego.  The  timber  is  supplied  from  the  large  mill,  the 
din  of  whose  machinery  can  be  heard  distinctly  at  this  distancw. 
Lumber  forms,  at  present,  the  chief  article  of  export  from  this 
place.  Upwards  of  one  million  of  sawn  lumber  was  shipped 
ffom  this  embryo  town  during  the  past  year. 
>  Shannonville  ewes  its  present  flourishing  prospects  to  the 
energy  and  enterprise  of  a  few  individuals,  who  saw  at  a  glance 
its  capabilities^  and  purchased  for  a  few  hundred  pounds  the  site 
of  a  town  which  is  now  worth  as  many  thousands.    The  steam- 


bvnts  do  uOd  to uch 


at  RjuauuOuville,  in 


ttips   bu  auu  lium 


ffi&gston.    The  month  of  the  river  is  too  narrow  to  admit  a 


':"  .-\: 


UVB  IS  THB  OUEAXUNGB. 


i» 


8 


jo  the 
glance 
]e  site 
iteam- 

mit  a 


larger  vessel  than  a  sohooner,  but  as  the  place  increases,  Tvharft 
will  be  built  at  its  entrance  into  the  bay. 

On  the  road  leading  from  Belleville  to  this  place,  which  is  in 
the  direct  route  to  Kingston,  there  is  a  large  tract  of  plain  land 
which  is  still  uncultivated.  The  soil  is  sandy,  and  the  trees  are 
low  and  far  apart,  a  natural  growth  of  short  grass  and  flowering 
shrubs  giving  it  very  much  the  appearance  of  a  park.  Clumps 
of  butternut,  and  hickory  trees,  form  picturesque  groups ;  and 
herds  of  cattle  belonging  to  the  settlers  in  the  vicinity,  roam  at  large 
over  these  plains  that  sweep  down  to  Ihe  water's  edge.  This  is 
a  very  favorite  resort  of  summer  parties,  as  you  can  drive  light 
carriages  in  all  directions  over  this  elevated  platform.  It  used 
formerly  to  be  a  chosen  spot  for  camp-meetings,  and  all  the 
piously  disposed  came  hither  to  listen  to  the  preachers,  and  "  get 
religion.'''' 

I  never  witnessed  one  of  these  meetings,  but  an  old  lady  gave 
me  a  very  graphic  description  of  one  of  them  that  was  held  on 
thb  spot  some  thirty  years  ago.  There  were  no  churches  in 
Belleville  then,  and  the  travelling  Methodist  ministers  used  to 
pitch  their  tents  on  these  plains,  and  preach  night  and  day  to  all 
goers  and  comers.  A  pulpit,  formed  of  rough  slabs  of  wood, 
was  erected  in  a  conveniently  open  space  among  the  trees,  and 
they  took  it  by  turns  to  read,  exhort,  and  pray,  to  the  dwellers 
in  the  wilderness.  At  night  they  kindled  large  fires,  which 
served  both  for  light  and  warmth,  and  enabled  the  pilgrims  to 
this  sylvan  shrine  to  cook  their  food,  and  attend  to  the  wants  of 
their  little  ones.  Large  booths,  made  of  the  boughs  of  trees, 
sheltered  the  worshippers  from  the  heat  of  the  sun  during  the 
day,  or  from  the  occasional  showers  produced  by  some  passing 
thunder  cloud  at  night. 

"  Our  bush  farm,"  said  my  friend,  "  happened  to  be  near  the 
spot,  and  I  went  with  a  young  girl,  a  friend  and  neighbour,  partly 
out  of  curiosity  asoA  partly  out  of  fhn,  to  hear  the  preaching.  It 
was  the  middle  of  July,  but  th^e  Troather  was  unusually  wet  for 
that  time  of  year,  and  every  tent  and  booth  was  crowded  with 
men,  women,  and  children,  all  huddled  together  to  keep  out  of 
tibe  rain.  Most  of  these  tents  exmbited  some  eztraordinay  scene 
of  fieuiatidsm  and  relij^ous  enthosiann  \  the  noise  and  oonftision 


s 


124|  LIFS    IN    THE    0LEABINO8. 

lirdre  deafening.  Meii  were  preaching  at  the  very  top  of  their 
voice ;  women  were  shrieking  and  groaning,  beating  their  breasts 
and  tearing  their  hair,  while  others  were  uttering  the  most  fran- 
tic outcries,  which  they  called  ejaeulatory  prayers.  One  thought 
possessed  me  all  the  time,  that  the  whole  assembly  were  mad, 
and  that  they  imagined  God  to  be  deaf,  and  that  he  could  not 
hear  them  without  their  making  this  shocking  noise.  It  would 
appear  to  you  like  the  grossest  blasphemy  were  I  to  repeat  to  you 
some  of  their  exclamations ;  but  one  or  two  were  so  absurdly 
ridiculous,  that  I  cannot  help  giving  them  as  I  heard  them. 

"  One  young  woman,  after  lying  foaming  and  writhing  upon 
the  ground,  like  a  creature  possessed,  sprang  up  several  feet  into 
the  air,  exclaiming,  *I  have  got  it  I  I  have  got  it  I  I  have  got  it!* 
To  which  others  responded — '  Keep  it  I  keep  it  1  keep  it  I'  I 
asked  a  bystander  what  she  meant.  He  replied, '  She  has  got  reli- 
gion. It  is  the  Spirit  that  is  speaking  in  her.'  I  felt  too  much 
sliocked  to  laugh  out,  yet  could  scarcely  retain  my  gravity.        * 

"  Passing  by  one  of  the  tents,  I  saw  a  very  fat  woman  lying  up- 
on a  bench  on  her  face,  uttering  the  most  dismal  groans,  while 
two  well-fed,  sleek-looking  ministers,  in  rusty  black  coats  and 
very  dirty-looking  white  chokers,  were  drumming  upon  her  fat 
back  with  their  fists,  exclaiming — '  Hero's  glory  I  here's  glory, 
my  friends !  Satan  is  departing  out  of  this  woman.  Hallelujah  1' 
This  spectacle  was  too  shocking  to  provoke  a  smile.  ^' 

"  There  was  a  young  lady  dressed  in  a  very  nice  silk  gown. 
Silk  was  a  very  scarce  and  expensive  article  in  those  days.  The 
poor  girl  got  dreadftilly  excited,  and  was  about  to  fling  herself 
down  upon  the  wet  grass,  to  show  the  depth -of  her  humility  and 
contrition,  when  she  suddenly  remembered  the  precious  silk 
dress,  and  taking  a  shawl  of  less  value  from  her  shoulders,  care- 
ftilly  spread  it  over  the  wet  ground. 

"  Ah,  my  dear  friend,"  continued  the  old  lady,  "  one  had  a 
deal  to  learn  at  that  camp-meeting.  A  number  of  those  people 
knew  no  more  what  tney  were  about  than  persons  in  a  dream. 
They  worked  themselves  up  to  a  pitch  of  frenzy,  because  they 
saw  others  carried  away  by  tiie  same  spirit ;  and  they  seemed  to 
try  which  could  make  the  most  noise,  and  throw  themselves  in- 
to the  most  unnatural  positions.    Few  of  them  carried  the  reli- 


LIIV  IN  TBK  CLEARXKOB. 


126 


glons  zeal  they  manifested  in  such  a  strange  way  at  that  meet- 
ing, into  their  own  homes.  Before  the  party  broke  np  it  was 
forgotten,  and  they  were  laughing  and  chatting  about  their  worldly 
affairs.  The  young  lads  were  sparking  the  girls,  and  the  girls 
laughing  and  flirting  with  them.  I  remarked  to  an  old  farmer, 
who  was  reckoned  a  very  pious  man,  *  that  such  conduct,  in  per- 
sons who  had  just  been  in  a  state  of  despair  about  their  sins,  was 
very  inconsistent,  to  say  the  least  of  it  ;*  and  he  replied  with  a 
sanctimonious  smile — *  It  is  only  the  Lord's  lambs  playing  with 
each  other.' "  ~ 

These  camp-meetings  seldom  take  place  near  large  towns, 
where  the  people  have  the  benefit  of  a  resident  minuter,  but 
they  still  occur  on  the  borders  of  civilization,  and  present  the 
same  disorderly  mixture  of  fanaticism  and  vanity. 

More  persons  go  for  a  frolic  than  to  obtain  any  spiritual  j}ene- 
fit.  In  illustration  of  this,  I  wiU  tell  yon  a  story  which  a  very 
beautiful  young  married  lady  told  to  me  with  much  glee ;  for  the 
thing  happened  to  herself,  and  she  was  the  principal  actor  in  the 
scene. 

"  I  had  an  aunt,  the  wife  of  a  very  wealthy  yeoman,  who  lived 

in  one  of  the  back  townships  of  0 ,  on  the  St.  Lawrence. 

She  was  a  very  pious  and  hospitable  woman,  and  none  knew  it 
better  than  the  travelling  ministers,  who  were  always  well  fed 
and  well  lodged  at  her  house,  particularly  when  they  assembled 
to  hold  a  camp-meeting,  which  took  place  once  in  several  years 
in  that  neighbourhood. 

**  I  was  a  girl  of  fifteen,  and  was  staying  with  my  aunt  for  the 
benefit  of  the  country-tur,  when  one  of  these  great  gatherings 
took  place.  Having  heard  a  great  deal  about  their  strange  do- 
ings at  these  meetings,  I  begged  very  hard  to  be  allowed  to 
make  one  of  the  spectators.  My  aunt,  who  knew  what  a  merry, 
light-hearted  creature  I  was,  demurred  for  some  time  before  she 
granted  my  request. 

" '  If  the  child  does  not  get  religvm^  she  said,  '  she  will  turn  it 
all  into  fun,  and  it  will  do  her  more  harm  than  good.' 

"Aunt  was  right  enough  in  her  conjectures;  but  still  she 
entertained  a  latent  hope,  that  the  zeal  of  the  preachers,  the 
excitement  of  the  scene,  and  the  powerful  influence  produced  by 


/r^ 


126 


LZTB  Ut  THE  OtBARTllfGS. 


the  example  of  the  pions,  might  have  a  beneficial  effect  on  my 
yonng  mind;  and  lead  to  my  conversion.  Annt  had  herself  been 
reclaimed  from  a  state  of  careless  indifibrenoe  by  attending  one 
of  these  meetings,  and  at  lost  it  was  determined  that  I  was 
to  go. 

"First  came  the  ministers,  and  then  the  grand  feed  my  annt 
had  prepared  for  them,  before  they  opened  the  campaign.  Kever 
shall  I  forget  how  those  holy  men  dovonred  the  good  things  set 
before  them.  I  stood  gazing  npon  them  in  ntter  astonishment, 
wondering  when  their  meal  would  come  to  an  end. ,  They  none 
wore  whiskers,  and  their  broad  fat  faces  literally  shone  with 
high  feeding.  When  I  laughed  at  their  being  such  excellent 
knife  and  fork  men,  aunt  gravely  reproved  my  levity,  by  saying, 
*  that  the  labourer  was  worthy  of  his  hire ;  and  that  it  would  be 
a,  groat  sin  to  muzzle  the  ox  that  treadeth  out  the  corn ;  that 
field  preaching  was  a  very  exhausting  thing,  and  that  these  pious 
men  required  a  great  deal  of  nourishment  to  keep  up  their 
strength  for  the  performance  of  the  good  work.' 

"After  they  were  gone,  I  dressed  and  accompanied  my  aunt  to 
the  scene  of  action. 

"  It  was  a  lovely  spot,  about  a  mile  from  the  house.  The  land 
rose  in  a  gentle  slope  from  the  river,  and  was  surrounded  on 
three  sides  by  lofty  woods.  The  front  gave  us  a  fine  view  of 
the  St.  Lawrence,  rushing  along  in  its  strength,  the  distant 
murmur  of  the  waves  mingling  with  the  sigh  of  the  summer 
breeze,  that  swept  the  dense  foliage  of  the  forest  ti'ees.  The 
place  had  been  cleared  many  years  before,  and  was  quite  free 
from  stumps  and  tiallen  timber,  the  ground  carpeted  with  soft 
moss  and  verdant  fresh  looking  turf. 

"  The  area  allotted  for  the  meeting  was  fenced  around  with  the 
long  thin  trunks  of  sapling  trees,  that  were  tied  together  with 
strips  of  bass-wood.  In  the  centre  of  the  enclosure  was  the 
platform  for  the  preachers,  constructed  of  rough  slabs,  and 
directly  behind  this  rural  pulpit  was  a  large  tent  connected  with 
it  by  a  flight  of  board  steps.  Here  the  preachers  retired,  after 
delivering  their  lectures,  to  rest  and  refresh  themselves.  Front- 
ing the  platform  was  a  sort  of  amphitheatre  of  booths,  constructed 


of  branches  of  trees,  aud  ooutaiuiug  benches  of  boards  supported 


."      -.1 


UFB  IN  THE  OLBARIirOS. 


m 


at  either  end  by  a  round  log  laid  ler  wise  at  the  rides  of  the 
tent.  Behind  these  roogh  benches  i)er8or8  had  placed  mat- 
tresses, which  they  had  brought  "sviih  them  in  their  wagons, 
that  snoh  as  came  from  a  distance  might  not  want  for  a  bed 
daring  their  stay — some  of  these  meetings  lasting  over  a  week. 

"<The  space  without  the  enclosure  was  occupied  by  a  double 
line  of  cartSf  wagons,  light  carriages,  and  ox  sleds,  while  the 
animals  undivested  of  their  harness  were  browsing  peaceftilly 
among  the  trees.  The  inner  space  was  crowded  with  persona 
of  all  classes,  but  the  poorer  certidnly  predominated.  Well 
dressed,  respectable  people,  however,  were  not  wanting ;  and 
though  I  came  there  to  see  and  to-be  seen,  to  laugh  and  to  make 
others  laugh,  I  must  confess  that  I  was  greatly  strndc  with  the 
imposing  and  picturesque  scene  before  me,  particularly  when  a 
number  of  voices  joined  in  singing  the  hymn  with  which  the 
service  commenced." 

There  is  something  very  touching  in  this  blending  of  human 
voices  in  the  open  air — ^this  choral  song  of  praise  borne  upwards 
from  the  earth,  and  ascending  through  the  clear  atmosphere  to 
heaven.  Leaving  my  friend  and  her  carious  narrative  for  a  few 
minutes,  I  must  remark  here  the  powerful  effect  produced  upon 
my  mind  by  hearing  "  Qtod.  save  the  King,"  sung  by  the  thousands 
of  London  on  the  proclamation  of  William  lY.  It  Was  imposd- 
ble  to  distinguish  good  or  bad  voices  in  such  a  mighty  volume 
of  sound,  which  rolled  through  the  air  like  a  peal  of  solemn 
thunder.  It  thrilled  through  my  heart,  and  paled  my  cheek. 
It  seemed  to  me  the  united  voice  of  a  whole  nation  rising  to  the 
throne  of  God,  and  it  was  the  grandest  combination  of  sound 
and  sentiment  that  ever  burst  upon  human  ears.  Long,  long 
may  that  thrilling  anthem  rise  fh>m  the  heart  of  England,  in 
strains  of  loyal  Hianksgiving  and  praise,  to  the  throne  of  that 
Eternal  Potentate  in  whoso  hand  is  the  fate  of  princes! 

"  There  were  numbers  bf  persons  who,  like  myself,  came  there 
for  amusement,  and  who  seemed  to  enjoy  themselves  quite  as 
much  as  I  did.  The  preaching  at  length  commenced  with  a  long 
prayer,  followed  by  an  admonitory  address,  urging  those  present 
to  see  their  danger,  repent  of  their  sins,  and  flee  from  the  wrath- 

fn  nnmn 

"Towards  the  middle  of  his  discourse,  the  speaker  wrought 


128 


UKK   IN   TBS   0LBARINO8. 


himself  up  into  such  a  religious  fury  that  it  became  infeotiouSf 
and  cries  and  groans  resounded  on  all  sides;  aad  the  prayers 
poured  out  by  repentant  sinners  for  mercy  and  pardon  were 
heart-rending.  The  speaker  at  length  became  speechless  from 
exhaustion,  and  stopping  suddenly  in  the  midst  of  his  too 
eloquent  harangue,  he  tied  a  red  cotton  handkerchief  round  his 
head,  and  hastily  descended  the  steps,  and  disappeared  in  the 
tent  provided  for  the  accommodaUon  of  the  ministers.  His 
place  was  instantly  sn^jplied  by  a  tall,  dark,  melaneholy  looking 
man,  who,  improying  upon  his  reverend  brother's  suggestions, 
drew  such  an  awful  picture  of  the  torments  endured  by  the 
damned,  that  several  women  fainted,  while  others  were  shrieking 
in  violent  hysterics. 

*.*I  had  listened  to  the  former  speaker  rith  attention  and 
respect,  but  this  man's  violent  denunciati^^ns  rather  tended  to 
harden  my  heart,  and  make  me  resist  any  religions  feeling  that 
had  been  growing  up  in  my  breast  I  began  to  tire  of  the  whole 
thing,  and  commenced  looking  about  for  some  object  that  might 
divert  my  thoughts  into  a  less  gloomy  diannel.  ^ 

"The  b«[ioh  on  which  I,  together  with  a  numbw  of  persons, 
was  sitting,  was  so  insecurely  placed  on  the  round  rolling  logs 
that  supported  it^  that  I  peroeiv^  that  the  least  motion  given  to 
it  at  my  end  would  capbize  it,  and  bring  all  the  dear  groaning 
creatures  who  were  sitting  upon  it,  with  their  eyes  tamed  up  to 
the  preaeher,  sprawling  on  the  ground. 

"*  Would  it  not  be  glorious  fun?'  whispered  the  ^rit  of  mis- 
chief—^rhaps  the  old  (me  himself— 4n  my  ears.  *Icandlat7, 
and  I  mil  do  it — so  here  goes !'  As  I  sat  next  to  the  round  log 
that  supported  my  «nd  of  the  plank,  I  had  only  to  turn  my  face 
that  way,  and  apply  my  foot  like  a  lever  to  the  round  trunk,  on 
which  the  end  of  the  bench  had  the  slightest  possible  hol^  and 
the  contemplated  downfall  became  a  certainty.  No  sooner 
thought  thfm  done.  The  next  moment  old  and  young,  fat  and 
lean,  women  and  children,  lay  sprawling  together  on  tlie  ground,; 
in  the  most  original  attitudes  and  picturesque  confufflon.  I,  for 
my  part,  was  lying  very  comfortably  on  one  of  the  mattresses, 
laughing  until  real  tears,  but  not  of  contrition,  streamed  down 
my  face. 

"Never  shall  I  forget  a  fat  old  farmer,  who  used  to  visit  at  my 


K 

■f 


f:  • 


Un  IN  TBS  OLSARISrOS. 


\r'^^  ■ 


kjmt%  as  he  orftwled  ont  of  the  human  heap  on  all  i    a^  uM 
shook  his  head  at  me— 

"  *  Ton  wicked  young  sinner,  this  is  all  yonr  doings.' 

*^  Before  the  storm  could  burst  upon  me,  I  got  up  and  ran 
laughing  out  of  the  tent,  and  hid  myself  among  the  trees  to 
enjoy  my  wicked  thoughts  alone.  Here  I  remained  for  a  long 
time,  watching,  at  a  safe  distance,  the  mad  gesticulations  of  the 
preacher,  who  was  capering  up  and  down  on  the  platform,  and 
using  the  most  violent  and  extravagant  language,  until  at  length, 
overcome  by  his  vehemence,  he  too  tied  the  invariable  red  hand- 
keroliief  round  his  head,  and  tumbled  back  into  the  tent,  to  be 
succeeded  by  another  and  another. 

"  Night,  with  all  her  stars,  was  now  stealing  upon  us ;  but  the 
light  from  a  huge  pile  of  burning  logs,  and  firom  torchee  composed 
of  fat  pine,  and  stuck  in  iron  gratee  supported  on  poles  in  differ- 
ent parts  of  the  plain,  scattered  the  darkness  back  to  the  woods, 
and  made  it  as  light  as  noon-day. 

"The  scene  was  now  wild  in  the  extreme:  the  red  light 
streamed  upon  the  moving  mass  of  human  beings  who  pressed 
around  the  pulpit,  glaring  upon  clenched  fists  and  upturned 
fLces,  while  the  preadier  standing  above  them,  and  thrown  into 
strong  relief,  with  his  head  held  back  and  his  hands  raised  to- 
wards heaven,  looked  like  some  inspired  prophet  of  old,  calling 
down  fire  from  heaven  to  consume  the  ungodly.  It  was  a  spec- 
tacle to  inspire  both  fear  and  awe ;  but  I  could  only  view  it  in 
the  most  absurd  light,  and  laugh  at  it. 

"  At  length  I  was  determined  to  know  what  became  of  the 
preachers,  after  tylQg  the  red  handkerchief  round  their  headi 
and  retreating  to  their  tents.  I  crept  carefully  round  to  the 
back  of  this  holy  of  holies,  and  applying  my  eyes  to  a  little 
aperture  in  the  canvas,  I  saw  by  the  Ught  of  a  solitary  candle 
several  men  lying  upon  mattresses  fast  asleep,  thdr  noses  making 
anything  but  a  musical  response  to  the  hynms  and  prayers  with- 
out. While  I  was  gazing  upon  these  prostrate  forms,  thus 
soundly  sleeping  after  the  hubbub  and  exdtement  their  dis- 
course had  occasioned  among  their  congregation,  the  last 
speaker  hastily  entered  the  tent,  and  flinging  himself  on  to 
lie  floor,  exolidmed,  in  a  sort  of  ecstacy  of  gratitude— *W#i 

6* 


180 


Lira  iM  mm  ouAMvot. 


thank  God  my  task  is  endad  for  tha  night;  and  now  for  a  good 
sleep  t* 

"While  I  was  yet  pondering  these  things  in  my  heart,  I  felt 
the  grasp  of  a  hand  npon  my  shoulder.  I  turned  with  a  shriek ; 
it  was  my  annt  seeking  me.  *  What  are  yon  doing  heret'  she 
saidf  rather  angrily. 

**  'Studying  my  lesson,  aunt,*  said  I,  gravely,  pointing  to  the 
sleepers.  *■  Do  these  men  preaoh  for  their  own  honor  and  glory, 
or  for  tha  ^ory  of  OodI  I  have  tried  to  find  out,  but  I  can't 
teU.' 

"  *  The  night's  grown  chilly,  child,'  said  my  aunt,  avoiding  the 
answer  I  expected ;  '  it  is  time  you  were  in  bed.' 

**  We  went  home.  I  got  a  sound  lecture  for  the  trick  I  had 
played,  and  I  never  went  to  a  camp-meeting  again ;  yet,  in  spite 
of  my  bad  conduct  as  a  child,  I  believe  they  often  do  good,  and 
are  the  means  of  making  careless  people  think  of  the  state  of 
their  souls." 

Though  the  steamrboats  do  not  stop  at  ShannonviUe,  they  never 
fifdl  to  do  so  at  the  pretty  town  of  Northport,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  bay,  in  order  to  take  in  freight  and  passengers.  4' 

Northport  rises  witli  a  vwy  steep  slope  from  the  water's  edge, 
and  the  steamer  runs  into  the  wharf  which  projects  but  a  few 
feet  from  the  shore.  Down  the  long  hill  which  leads  to  the 
mtin  street,  men  and  boys  are  running  to  catch  a  sight  of  the 
steamboat,  and  hear  tlie  news.  All  is  bustle  and  confusion. 
Barrels  of  flour  are  being  roXleA  into  the  boat,  and  sheep  and 
cattle  are  led  off—men  hurry  on  board  with  trunks  and  carpet 
bags — and  women,  with  children  in  their  arms  or  led  by  the 
hand,  hasten  on  board ;  while  our  passengers,  desoendiug  to  the 
whar^  are  shaking  hands  "with  merchants  and  /armors,  and  talk- 
ing over  the  current  prices  of  grain  and  merchandise  at  their 
respestive  towns.  The  bell  rings— the  cable  that  bound  us  to 
the  friendly  wharf  is  cast  off  apd  flung  on  the  deck — ^the  steamer 
opens  her  deep  lungs,  and  we  are  once  more  stemming  our  way 
towards  Kingston. 

While  we  sail  up  that  romantic  part  of  tiie  Bay  of  Quints, 
called  the  *'  Long  Beach,'*  at  the  head  of  which  stands  the  beau- 
tifol  town  of  FictODf  I  will  ^ve  you  a  fowj^eminisoencea  of 


f 


Lira   IN  TIIC   CLRARIMOt. 


Northport.  it  is  a  most  quiot  ond  primitive  villago,  and  one 
might  truly  exclaim  witti  Moore — 

"  And  I  said  if  there's  peace  to  be  found  on  the  earthi 
The  heart  that  is  humble  might  hope  for  it  here." 

No  gentler  picture  of  society  in  a  new  country  oould  be  fbcnd, 
than  the  one  exhibited  by  the  inhabitants  of  Northport.  Tho 
distinctions,  unavoidable  among  persons  of  wealth  and  education, 
are  hardly  felt  or  recognised  here.  Every  one  is  a  neighbour  in 
the  strictest  sense  of  the  word,  and  high  and  low  meet  occasion- 
ally at  each  other's  houses.  Even  the  domestics  are  removed  by 
such  a  narrow  line  of  demarcation,  that  they  appear  like  mem- 
bers of  one  family. 

Tlio  Prince  Edward  district,  one  of  the  wealthiest  rural  districts 
fn  Upper  Canada,  was  settled  about  sixty  years  ago  by  U.  E.  loy- 
alists ;  and  its  inhabitants  are  nuunly  composed  of  the  descend- 
ants of  Dutch  and  American  families.  They  have  among  them 
a  large  sprinkling  of  Quakers,  who  are  a  happy,  hospitablo 
community,  living  In  peace  and  brotherly  kindness  with  all 
men. 

The  soil  of  this  district  is  of  the  best  quality  for  agricultural 
purposes;  and  tliough  tho  march  of  improvement  has  been  slow, 
when  compared  with  the  rapid  advance  of  other  places  that 
possessed  fewer  local  advantages,  it  has  gone  on  steadily  pro- 
gressing, and  the  surface  of  a  fine  undulating  country  is  dotted 
over  with  large  well-cleared  farms,  and  neat  farm-houses. 

One  of  the  oldest  and  wealthiest  inhabitants  of  Northport, 

Captain ^  is  a  fine  specimen  of  the  old  school  of  Canadian 

settlers ;  one  of  nature's  gentlemen,  a  man  respected  and  beloved 
by  all  who  know  him,  whose  wibe  head,  and  keen  organs  of 
observation,  have  rendered  him  a  highly  intelligent  and  intel- 
lectual man,  without  having  received  the  benefit  of  a  college 
education.  His  house  is  always  open  for  the  reception  of  friends, 
neighbours,  and  strangers.  He  has  no  children  of  his  own,  but 
has  adopted  several  orphan  children,  on  whom  he  has  bestowed 
all  the  affection  and  care  of  a  real  parent. 

This  system  of  adopting  children  in  Canada  is  one  of  great 
benevolencA,  whi^h  ftannnt  bo  too  hisl^  euloeized.    Many  an 


a>tfl«fiitlniiti  indninrMmjatM., 


■^PMI" 


182 


UFS  IN  THB  CLEARINGS. 


(; 


orphan  child,  who  would  be  cust  utterly  friendless  upon  the 
worldf  finds  a  comfortable  home  with  some  good  neighbour, 
and  is  treated  with  more  consideration,  and  enjoys  greater 
privileges,  than  if  his  own  parents  had  lived.  No  difference  is 
made  between  the  adopted  child  and  the  young  ones  of  the 
family ;  it  is  clothed,  boarded,  and  educated  with  the  same  care, 
and  a  stranger  would  find  it  difficult  to  determine  which  was  the 
real,  which  the  transplanted  scion  of  the  house.  ..^ 

Oaptain  ——  seldom  dines  alone ;  some  one  is  always  going 
and  coming,  stepping  in  and  taking  pot-luck,  by  accident  or 
invitation.  But.  the  Captain  can  afibrd  it.  Sociable,  talkative, 
and  the  soul  of  hospitality,  he  entertains  his  guests  like  a  prince. 
"  Is  he  not  a  glorious  old  feUow  ?"  said  our  beloved  and  excellent, 

chief-justice  Robinson ;  "  Oaptain is  a  credit  to  the  country." 

We  echoed  this  sentiment  with  our  whole  heart  It  is  quite  a 
treat  to  make  one  of  his  uninvited  vjuests,  and  share  the  good- 
humoured  sociability  of  his  bountiful  table. 

Ton  meet  there  men  of  all  grades  and  conditions,  of  every 
party  and  creed, — ^the  well-educated,  well-dressed  clergymen  of 
the  Establishment,  and  the  travelling  dispensers  of  gospel  truths, 
with  shabbier  coats  and  less  pretensions.  No  one  is  deemed  an 
intruder — ^all  find  excellent  cheer,  and  a  hearty  welcftme.  ^, 

Northport  daos  not  want  its  native  poet,  though  the  money- 
making  merch&nts  and  farmers  regard  him  with  a  suspicious  and 
pitying  eye.  The  manner  in  which  they  speak  of  his  unhappy 
malady  reminds  me  of  what  an  old  Quaker  said  to  mo  regarding 
his  nephew,  Bernard  Barton — "Friend  Susanna,  it  is  a  great 
pity,  but  my  nephew  Bernard  is  sadly  addicted  to  literature." 

So  Isaac  N ,  gentleman  farmer  of  the  township  of  Amelias- 
burgh,  is  sadly  gifted  with  the  genuine  elements  of  poetry,  and, 
like  Burns,  composes  verses  at  the  plough-tail.  I  have  read  with 
great  pleasure  some  sweet  lines  by  this  rural  Canadian  bard ;  and 
were  he  now  beside  me,  instead  of  "  Big  bay"  lying  so  provok- 
ingly  between,  I  would  beg  from  liim  a  specimen  of  his  rhyming 
powers,  just  to  prove  to  my  readers  that  the  genuine  children  of 
song  are  distinguished  by  the  same  unmistakable  characteristics 
in  every  clime. 
.1  remember  beinj^  9(N^7  "truck  by  an  overpoat,  worn  hv  ^ 


■m 


-     1    t.S 


■   K 


/^ 


■V 


/. 


LIFS   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


188 


» 


clergyman  I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  many  years  ago  at  tliis 
village,  which  seemed  to  me  a  pretty  good  snbstitnte  for  the 
miraculous  purse  of  Fortunatus.  The  garment  to  which  I  allade 
was  long  and  wide,  and  out  round  somewhat  in  the  shape  of  a 
spencer.  The  inside  lining  formed  one  capacious  pocket,  into 
which  the  reverend  gentleman  could  conveniently  stow  away 
newspapers,  books,  and  sermons,  and,  on  a  pinch,  a  fat  fowl,  a 
bottle  of  wine,  or  a  home-baked  loaf  of  bread.  On  the  present 
occasion,  the  kind  mistress  of  the  house  took  care  that  the 
owner  should  not  travel  with  it  empty ;  so,  to  keep  him  fairly 
balanced  on  his  horse,  she  stowed  away  into  this  convenient 
garment  sach  an  assortment  of  good  things,  that  I  sat  and 
watched  the  operation  in  curious  amazement. 

Some  time  after,  I  happened  to  dine  with  a  dissenting  minister 

at  Mr. 's  house.    The  man  had  a  very  repulsive  and  animal 

expression ;  he  ate  so  long  and  lustily  of  a  very  fat  goose,  that  he 
began  to  look  very  uncomfortable,  and  complained  very  much  of 
being  troubled  with  dysp^sy  after  his  meals.  He  was  a  great 
teetotaller,  or  professed  to  be  one,  but  certainly  had  forgotten 
the  text,  "  Be  ye  moderate  in  all  things ;"  for  he  by  no  means 
applied  the  temperance  system  to  the  substantial  creature  com- 
forts, of  which  he  partook  in  a  most  immoderately  voracious 
manner. 

"  I  know  what  would  cure  you,  Mr.  R-' — ,"  said  my  friend, 
who  seemed  to  guess  at  a  gluice  the  real  character  of  his  visitor; 
"  but  then  I  know  that  you  would  never  consent  to  make  use  of 
such  a  remedy." 

"I  would  take  anything  that  would  do  me  good,"  said  black- ^ 
coat,  with  a  sigh. 

*^  What  think  you  of  a  small  wine-glass  of  brandy  just  beforo 
taking  dinner?" 

"  Against  my  principles,  Sir ;  it  would  never  do,"  with  a  lugu-1 
brious  shake  of  the  head. 

"  There  is  nothing  on  earth  so  good  for  your  complaint." 

"Do  you  reelly  think  it  would  serve  me?"  with  a  sudden 
twinkle  of  his  heavy  fishy  eyes. 

"  Not  a  doubt  of  the  fact"  (j^ouHng  out  g  pretty  large  draiuif\ 
**■  M  will  kill  the  heartburn,  and  do  away  with  that  uncomfortable 


» . 


«    184 


LIFE  IN  THB  CLEARINGS. 


i'y. 


-\:^ 


feeling  yon  experience  after  eating  rich  food.    And  as  to  piinci- 
pleSf  yonr  pledge  allows  it  in  ease  of  disease."  ^ 

"Trne,"  said  black-ooat,  coquetting  with  the  glass;  "still  I 
should  be  sorry  to  try  an  aleoAolio  r^nedy  while  anothw  could 
be  found."  « 

"Perhaps  you  would  prefer  eating  few,"  said  my  friend  slyly, 
"  which,  I  have  been  told  by  a  medical  man,  is  generally  a  cer- 
tain cure  if  persevwed  in*"  ' 

"Oh,  ah,  yes.  But,  Sir,  my  constitution  would  never  stand 
that.  I  think  for  once  I  will  trj-  the  effect  of  your  first  pre- 
scription; but,  remember,  it  is  only  medieinally.''^ 

The  next  moment  the  glass  was  returned  to  the  table  empty, 
and  the  good  man  took  his  leave. 

"Now,  Mr.  — — ,  was  it  not  too  bad  of  you  to  make  that  man 
break  his  pledge?"  observed  a  person  at  table. 

"  My  dear  Sir,  that  man  requires  very  little  temptation  to  do 
that.  The  total  abstinence  of  a  glutton  is  entirely  for  the 
public."  »» 

The  houses  btiilt  by  the  Dutch  settlers  have  very  little  privacy^ 
as  one  bed-chamber  invariably  opens  into  another.  In  some 
cases,  the  sleeping  apartments  all  open  into  the  common  sitting- 
room  occupied  by  the  family.  To  English  people,  tibis  is  both  an 
uncomfortable  and  very  unpleasant  arrangement.  l 

I  slept  for  two  nights  at  Mr.  -— — 's  house,  with  my  husband, 
and  our  dormitory  had  .no  egress  but  through  another  bed- 
chamber; and  as  that  happened  to  be  occupied  on  the  first 
night  by  a  clergyman,  I  had  to  wait  for  an  hour,  after  my 
husband  was  up  and  down  stairs  rejoicing  in  the  fresh  air  of  a 
lovely  summer  morning,  before  I  could  escape  from  my  cham- 
ber,— ^my  neighbour,  who  was  young  and  very  comely,  taking  a 
long  time  for  his  prayers,  as  the  business  of  the  toilet. 
,7  My  husband  laughed  very  heartily  at  my  imprisonment,  as  he 
termed  it ;  but  the  next  day  I  had  the  laugh  against  him,  for  our 
sleeping  neighbours  happened  to  be  a  middle-aged  Quaker,  with 
a  very  sickly  delicate  wife.  I,  of  course,  was  forced  to  go  to  bed 
when  she  did,  or  be  obliged  to  pass  through  her  chamber  after 
broths  Jonathmk  had  retired  for  thA  nicht.  Thia  belnip  bv  no 
means  desirable,  I  left  a  very  interesting  argument,  in  which  my 


■}'\i 


I 


UFB  IN  THB  OIAARIKGB. 


185 


husband,  the  QaakeTf  aiid  the  poet  were  fighting  an  animated 
battle  on  reform  principles,  against  the  olergyman  and  my  very 
mnoh  reelected  Tory  host.  How  they  got  on  I  don't  know,  for 
the  debate  was  at  its  height  when  I  was  obliged  to  beat  my 
retreat  to  bed. 

,  After  an  hour  or  so  I  heard  Jonathan  tumble  np  stairs  to  bed, 
luid  while  nndressing  he  made  the  following  very  innocent  remark 
to  his  wife,  "  Traly,  Hannah,  I  fear  that  I  have  used  too  many 
words  to-night.  My  uncle  is  a  man  <^  many  words,  and  one  is 
apt  to  forget  the  rules  of  prudence  when  arguing  with  him.'' 

K  the  use  of  many  words  was  looked  upon  as  a  serious  trans- 
gression by  honest  JiMiathan,  my  husband,  my  fiiend,  and  the 
poet,  must  haye  been  very  guilty  men,  for  they  continued  their 
argument  until  the  "sma'  honra  ayont  the  twal." 

Hy  husband  had  to  pass  through  the  room  occupied  by  the 
Friends,  in  order  to  reaoh  mine,  but  he  put  a  bold  face  upon  the 
matter,  and  plunged  at  onee  through  the  difficulty,  the  Quaker's 
nose  giving  unmistiOcable  notice  that  he  was  in  the  land  of  Nod. 
The  pale  sickly  woman  just  opened  her  dreamy  black  eyes,  but 
hid  them  instantly  beneath  the  bed-clothes,  and  the  passage,  not 
of  arms,  but  of  the  bed-chamber,  was  won. 
*  The  next  morning  we  had  to  rise  early  to  take  the  boat,  and 
Jonathan  was  up  by  the  dawn  of  day;  so  that  I  went  through 
as  bold  as  a  lion,  and  was  busily  employed  in  discussing  an 
excellent  breakfast,  while  my  poor  partner  was  sitting  impa- 
tiently nursing  his  appetite  at  the  foot  of  his  bed,  and  wishing 
the  pale  Quakeress  across  the  bay.  The  steamer  was  in  sight 
before  he  was  able  to  join  ua.at  the  breakfast-table.  I  had  now 
my  revenge,  and  teased  him  all  the  way  home  on  being  kept  a 
prisoner,  with  only  a  siokly  woman  for  a  jailor. 

A  young  lady  gave  me  an  account  of  a  faneral  she  witnessed 
in  this  primitive  village,  which  may  not  be  uninteresting  to  my 
English  readers,  as  a  picture  of  some  of  the  customs  of  a  new 
country. 

The  deceased  was  an  old  and  very  respectable  resident  in  the 
township ;  and  as  the  Canadians  delight  in  large  funerals,  he  was 


followed  to  his  last  home  **- 


mround. 


by  nearly  all  the  Fesideuts  ior  miles 


'.»W*AS**,W*iAiJU.JKV-*' 


136 


UFS  IN  THB  CLKARINOd. 


t 


A 


The  use  of  the  hearse  is  not  known  in  rural  districts,  and, 
indeed,  is  seldom  used  in  towns  or  cities  here.  Tlio  corpse  is 
generally  carried  to  the  grave,  the  bearers  being  chosen  from 
among  the  gentlemen  of  most  note  in  the  neighbourhood,  who, 
to  the  honour  of  the  country  be  it  spoken,  never  refhse  to  act  on 
these  mournftd  occasions.  These  walking  funerals  are  far  more 
imposing  and  affecting  spectacles  than  the  hearse  with  its  faneral 
plumes;  and  the  simple  feet  of  friends  and  neighbours  conveying 
a  departed  brother  to  his  long  home,  has  a  more  solemn  and 
touching  effect  upon  the  mind,  than  the  train  of  hired  mourners 
and  empty  state-carriages. 

■;p  When  a  body  is  brought  from  a  distance  for  interment,  it  is 
conveyed  in  a  wagon,  if  in  summer,  spring,  or  autumn,  and  oh  a 
sleigh  during  the  winter  season,  and  is  attended  to  the  grave  by 
all  the  respectable  yeomen  in  the  township. 
»  I  cannot  resist  the  strong  temptation  of  digressing  from  my 
present  subject,  in  order  to  relate  a  very  affecting  instance  I 
witnessed  at  one  of  these  funerals  of  the  attachment  of  a  dog  to 
his  decQ^d  master,  which  drew  tears  from  my  eyes,  and  from 
the  eyes  of  my  children. 

The  body  of  a  farmer  had  been  brought  in  a  wagon  from  one 
of  the  back  townships,  a  distance  of  twenty  or  thirty  miles,  anTl 
was,  as  usual  in  such  cases,  attended  by  a  long  train  of  country 
equipages.  My  house  fronted  the  churchyai*d,  and  from  the  win- 
dows you  could  witness  the  whole  of  the  funeral  ceremonial,  and 
hear  the  service  pronounced  over  the  grave.  When  the  cofim 
was  lifred  by  the  stalwart  sons  of  the  deceased  from  the  wagon, 
and  the  procession  formed  to  carry  it  into  the  church,  I  observed 
a  large,  buff  Flemish  dog  fall  into  the  ranks  of  the  mourners,  and 
follow  them  into  the  sacred  edifice,  keeping  as  near  the  cofl&n  as 
those  about  it  would  permit  him.  After  the  service  in  the 
church  was  ended,  the  creature  persevered  in  following  the  be- 
loved remains  to  the  grave.  When  the  crowd  dispersed,  the 
faithful  animal  retired  to  some  distance,  and  laid  himself  quietly 
down  upon  a  grave,  until  the  sexton  had  finished  his  mournful 
task,  and  the  last  sod  was  placed  upon  the  fresh  heap  that  had 
closed  for  ever  over  the  form  he  loved. 

When  the  man  retired,  the  dog  proceeded  to  the,  spot,  walked 


LIFK  IN  THB  OLBARINOEk 


187 


oarefally  round  it,  smelt  the  earth,  lifted  his  head,  and  uttered 
the  most  unearthly  howls.  He  then  endeavoured  to  disinter  the 
body,  by  digging  a  large  hole  at  one  end  of  the  grave ;  but  find- 
ing that  he  could  not  "effect  his  purpose,  he  stretched  himself  at 
full  length  over  it,  as  if  to  guard  the  spot,  with  his  head  buried 
between  his  fore-paws,  his  whole  appearance  betokening  the 
most  intense  dejection. 

All  that  day  and  night,  and  the  next  day  and  night,  he  never 
quitted  his  post  for  an  instant,  at  intervals  smelling  the  earth, 
and  uttering  those  mournful,  heart-rending  cries.  Hy  boys  took 
him  bread  and  meat,  and  tried  to.  coax  him  from  the  grave ;  but 
he  rejected  the  food  and  their  caresses.  The  creature  appeared 
wasted  and  heart-broken  with  giief.  Towards  noon  of  the  third 
day,  the  eldest  son  of  his  late  master  came  in  search  of  him ;  and 
the  young  man  seemed  deeply  affected  by  this  instance  of  the 
dog's  attachment  to  his  father.  Even  hia  well-known  voice 
failed  to  entice  him  from  the  grave,  and  he  was  obliged  to  bring 
a  collar  and  chain,  and  lift  him  by  force  into  his  wagon,  to  get 
Mm  from  his  post. 

Oh,  human  love!  is  thy  memory  and  thy  faith  greater  than 
the  attachment  of  this  poor,  and,  as  we  term  him,  unreasoning 
brute,  to  his  dead  master?  His  grief  made  an  impression  on  my 
mind,  and  on  that  of  my  children,  which  will  never  be  forgotten. 

But  to  return  to  the  village  funeral.  The  body  in  this  case 
was  borne  to  the  church  by  the  near  relatives  of  the  deceased ; 
imd  a  clergyman  of  the  establishment  delivered  a  funeral  sermon, 
in  which  he  enumerated  the  good  qualities  of  the  departed,  his 
long  residence  among  them,  and  described  the  trialB  and  hard- 
ships he  had  encountered  as  a  first  settler  in  that  district,  while 
it  was  yet  in  the  wilderness.  He  extolled  his  conduct  as  a  good 
citizen,  a  faithful  Christian,  and  a  public-spirited  man.  His 
sermon  was  a  very  complete  piece  of  rural  biography,  very 
oi^ious  and  graphic  in  its  way,  and  was  listened  to  with  the 
deepest  attention  by  the  persons  assembled. 

When  the  discourse  was  concluded,  and  the  blessing  pronounced, 
one  of  the  sons  of  the  deceased  rose  and  informed  the  persons 
present,  that  if  any  one  wished  to  take  a  last  look  of  the  dear  old 
man,  now  wos  the  time.  -mmmi,  7^^*  i<A,i«taisi  .^pj^^.^ 


■■u-  vnwiii>if.irtiirv.<.«i„j,... 


UFA  IN  THE  OLBARINOS. 


i. 


He  then  led  the  way  to.the  aisle,  in  which  the  coffin  stood 
upon  the  trossels,  and  opening  a  small  lid  in  the  top,  revealed  to 
the  astonishment  of  my  yonng  friend  the  pale,  ghastly  face  of  the 
dead.  Ahnost  every  person  present  touched  either  the  face, 
hands,  or  trow  of  the  deceased ;  and  after  their  curiosity  had 
been  fully  satisfied,  the  procession  followed  the  remains  to  their 
last  resting-place.  This  part  of  the  ceremony  ooucladod,  the 
indifibrent  spectators  dispersed  to  their  respective  homes,  while 
the  friends  and  relations  of  the  dead  man  returned  to  dine  at  the 
house  of  one  of  his  Eons,  my  friend  making  one  of  the  party. 
•  In  solemn  state  the  mourners  discussed  the  merits  of  an  ex- 
cellent dinner, — the  important  business  of  eating  being  occasion- 
ally interrupted  by  ranarks  upon  the  appearance  of  tlie  corpse, 
his  age,  the  disease  of  which  he  died,  the  probable  division  of 
his  property,  and  the  merits  of  the  funeral  discourse.  This  was 
done  in  such  a  business-like,  matter-of-fact  manner,  that  ray 
friend  was  astonished  how  the  blood  relations  of  the  deceased 
could  join  in  these  remarks. 

After  the  great  business  of  eating  was  concluded,  the  spirits  of 
the  party  began  to  flag.  The  master  of  the  house  perceiving 
how  matters  were  going,  left  the  room,  and  soon  returned  with 
a  servant  bearing  a  tray  with  plates  and  forks,  and  a  large  dish 
of  hickory  nuts.  The  mourners  dried  their  tears,  and  set  seri- 
ously to  work  to  discuss  tiie  nuts,  and  while  deeply  engaged  with 
their  mouse-like  employment,  forgot  for  a  while  their  sorrow  for 
the  dead,  continuing  to  keep  up  their  spirits  until  the  announce- 
ment of  tea  turned  their  thoughts  into  a  new  channel.  By  the 
time  all  the  rich  pies,  cakes,  and  preserves  were  eaten,  their 
feelings  seemed  to  have  subsided  into  tiieir  accustomed  every- 
day routine. 

It  is  certain  that  death  is  looked  upon  by  many  Canadians 
more  as  a  matter  of  business,  and  a  change  of  property  into  other 
hands,  than  as  a  real  domestic  calamity.  I  have  heard  people 
talk  of  the  approaching  dissolution  of  their  nearest  ties,  with  a 
calm  philosophy  which  I  never  could  comprehend.  "  Mother  is 
old  and  delicate;  we  can't  expect  her  to  last  long,"  says  one. 
"My  brother's  death  has  been  looked  for  these  several  months 
past;  you  knowhe^s  in  the  consumption."    My  husband  asked 


:fi-.-  V 


./ 


»• ,'  ■,. 


Llira  IN  THE  OLBARINOS. 


189 


'\ 


the  Bon  of  a  respectable  feiJier,  for  whom  he  entertained  an 
esteem,  how  his  father  was,  for  he  had  not  seen  him  for  some 
time?  "I  gmeas,"  was  the  reply,  "that  the  old  man*s  fixing  for 
the  other  world."    Mother  yonng  man,  being  asked  by  ray 

friend,  Oaptain ^  to  spend  the  evening  at  his  house,  replied 

— "No,  can't— mnch  obliged;  but  I'm  afear'd  that  grandfather 
win  give  the  last  Mcks  while  I'm  away." 
~ '  Canadians  flock  in  crowds  to  visit  the  dymg,  and  to  gaze  npon 
the  dead.  A  doctor  told  me  that  being  called  into  the  country 
to  visit  a  veary  slek  man,  he  was  surprised  on  finding  ttie  wife  of 
L;  patient  sitting  alone  before  the  fire  in  the  lower  room,  smok- 
ing a  pipe.    He  naturally  inquired  if  her  husband  was  better  ? . 

"  Oh,  no,  sir,  far  from  that ;  he  is  dying  I" 

"  Dying  1  and  you  hero  ?" 

"  I  can't  help  that,  sir.  The  room  is  so  crowded  with  the 
neighbours,  that  I  can't  get  in  to  wait  upon  him." 

"  Follow  me,"  said  the  doctor.  "  I'll  soon  make  a  clearance  for 
you." 

On  ascending  the  stairs  that  led  to  the  apartment  of  the  sick 
man,  he  found  th^m  crowded  with  people  struggling  to  get  in,  to 
take  a  peep  at  the  poor  man.  It  was  only  by  telling  them  that 
he  was  the  doctor,  that  he  forced  his  way  to  the  bedside.  He 
found  his  patient  in  a  high  fever,  greatly  augmented  by  the 
bustle,  confusion,  and  heat,  occasioned  by  so  many  people  round 
him.  "With  great  difficulty  he  cleared  the  room  of  these 
intruders,  and  told  the  brother  of  his  patient  to  keep  every  ono 
but  the  sick  man's  wife  out  of  the  house.  The  brother  followed 
the  doctor's  advice,  and  the  man  cheated  the  curiosity  of  the 
death-seekers,  and  recovered. 

The  Canadians  spend  a  great  deal  of  money  upon  their  dead. 
An  old  lady  told  me  that  her  nephew,  a  very  large  farmer,  who 
had  the  misfortune  to  lose  his  wife  in  childbed,  had  laid  out  a 
great  deal  of  money — ^p.  little  fortune  she  termed  it — on  her  grave 
clothes.  "  Oh,  my  dear,"  she  said,  "  it  is  a  thousand  pities  that 
you  did  not  go  and  see  her  before  she  was  buried.  She  was 
dressed  so  expensively,  and  she  made  such  a  beautiful  corpse  I 
Her  cap  was  of  real  tlireod  lace,  trimmed  with  white  French 


140 


Lint  IK  THB  OLBARIKOB. 


ribbons,  and  her  linen  the  finest  that  oonld  be  bought  in  the 
,  country."  - 

The  more  ostentatious  the  display  d!  grief  for  the  dead,  the 
less  I  have  always  found  of  the  reality.  I  heard  two  young 
ladies,  who  had  recently  lost  a  mothor,  not  more  tlian  sixteen 
years  older  than  the  eldest  of  the  twain,  lamenting  most  patheti-  ' 
cally  that  they  could  not  go  to  a  public  bidl,  because  they  were 
in  mourning  for  ma'  I  Oh,  what  a  pitifhl  farce  is  this,  of  wear- 
ing mourning  for  the  dead  I  But  as  I  have  a  good  deal  to  say  to 
sensible  people  on  that  subject,  I  will  defer  my  long  lecture  until 
the  next  chapter. 

UANDOM  THOUGHTS. 

'^  When  is  Youth's  gay  heart  the  lightest  ?— 
When  the  torch  of  healtii  1^  urns  brightest, 
And  the  sours  rich  banquet  lies 
In  air  and  ocean,  earth  and  skies ; 
Till  the  honied  cup  of  pleasure 
OvocflowB  with  mental  treasure. 

"  When  is  Love's  sweet  dream  the  sweetest?— 
Wheb  a  kindred  heart  thou  meetest, 
XTnpoUnted  with  the  strife— 
The  selfish  aims  that  tarnish  life ; 
Ere  the  scowl  of  care  has  faded 
Ths  shining  chaplet  Fancy  braided, 
And  emotions  pure  and  high 
Swell  the  heart  and  fiU  the  eye ; 
Bich  revei^gs  of  a  mind 

Within  a  loving  breast  enshrined, 
To  thine  own  fond  bosom  plighted. 
In  affection's  bends  united  :  .  "^ 

The  sober  joys  of  after  years 
Are,nothing  to  those  smiles  and  fears. 

"  When  is  Sorrow's  sting  the  strongest  ? —  ^ 

^  When  friends  errow  cold  we've  loved  the  longest^ 

And  the  bankrupt  hearirwould  borrow 
Treacherous  hopes  to  cheat  the  morrow ; 
Dreams  of  bliss  by  reason  banish'd. 


H 


/;| 


the 

the 
mg 
een 
eti- 
ere 
>ar- 

QtU 


M 


Line  m  the  olsarikos. 

£ vly  joyw  that  qniekly  vanish'd 

And  the  treasured  put  appears 

July  to  augment  our  tears ; 

When,  within  itself  retreating, 

The  spirit  owns  life's  joys  are  fleeting, 

Yet,  racked  with  anxious  doubts  and  fears, 

Trusts,  Slindly  trusts  to  future  years. 

"  Oh,  this  iH  grief,  the  preacher  saith,— 
The  world's  dark  woe  that  workeih  death ! 
Yet,  oft  beneath  its  influence  bowed, 
A  beam  pf  hope  will  burst  the  cloud. 
And  heaven's  celestial  shore  appears 
Slow  rising  o'er  the  tide  of  years, 
Gxiiding  tlie  spirit's  darkling  way 
Through  thorny  paths  to  endless  day. 
Then  the  toils  of  life  lure  done, 
Youth  and  age  are  both  as  one: 
Sorrow  never  more  can  sting. 
Neglect  or  pain  the  bosom  wring } 
And  the  joys  bless'd  spirits  prove 
Far  exceeds  all  earthly  love  I" 


fJti^ 


it^V^ttiVfi"",' 


142 


UWK  IN  TBI  OLBAAUrOS. 


CHAPTER  Vm. 


•'«.. 


>  i 


"  What  la  Death  f^my  sister  say." 
'*  Ask  not,  brother,  breathing  day. 
Aak  the  earth  on  which  we  tread, 
That  silent  empire  of  the  dead. 
Ask  the  sea — its  myriad  wares, 
Living,  leap  o'er  countless  graves !" 
"  Earth  and  oeean  answer  not. 
Life  is  In  their  depths,  forgot.** 
Ask  yon  pale  extended  form, 
Unconscious  of  the  coming  storm, 
That  breathed  and  spake  an  hour  ago, 
Of  heavenly  bliss  and  penal  woe ; — 
Within  yon  shrouded  figure  lies 
«•  The  mystery  of  mysteries  !'* 


8.  M. 


Amono  the  many  absnrd  oastomsthat  the  sanction  of  timo  tuad 
the  arbitraiy  laws  of  society  have  rendered  indispensable,  thero 
is  not  one  that  is  so  maoh  abused,  and  to  which  mankind  so 
fondly  clings,  as  that  of  u>«aring  moumiriff/or  the  dead  I — ^from 
the  ostentation?  public  mourning  appointed  by  governments  for 
the  loss  of  their  rulers,  down  to  the  plain  black  badge,  worn  by 
the  humblest  peasant  for  the  death  of  parent  or  child. 

To  attempt  to  raise  one  feeble  voice  against  a  practice  sanc- 
tioned by  all  nations,  and  hallowed  by  the  most  solemn  religious 
rites,  appears  almost  sacrilegious.  There  is  something  so  beauti- 
ful, so  poetical,  so  sacred,  in  this  outward  sign  of  a  deep  and 
hdartfelt  sorrow,  that  to  deprive  death  of  his  sable  habiliments 
— the  melancholy  hearse,  funeral  plumes,  sombre  pall,  and  long 
array  of  drooping  night-clad  mourners,  together  with  the  awful 
clangor  of  the  doleful  bell — ^would  rob  the  stern  necessity  of  our 
nature  of  half  its  terrors,  and  tend  greatiy  to  destroy  that*reli- 
gious  dread  which  is  so  imposing,  and  which  affords  such  a 
solemn  lesson  to  the  living.  > 

Alas !  Where  is  the  need  of  all  this  black  parade  ?  Is  it  not  a 
reproach  to  Him,  who,  in  his  wisdom,  appointed  death  to  pass 
upon  aU  men  %  Were  the  senitence  confined  to  the  human  species^ 
we  might  have  more  reason  for  these  extravagant  demonstrations 


-w 


LUri  XV  TBI  OUEARUraB.  X4>^ 

of  grief;  bat  in  every  ol^ject  aroand  us  we  see  inscribed  the 
mystorioos  law  of  change.  The  very  mountains  oromble  and 
decay  with  years ;  tlie  great  sea  slirinks  and  grows  again ;  the 
lofty  forest  tree,  that  has  drank  the  dews  of  heaven,  laughed  in 
the  sunlight  and  shoolc  its  branches  at  a  thousand  storms,  yields 
to  the  same  inscxutaUe  destiny,  and  bows  its  tall  forehead  to 
the  dust. 

Life  lives  upon  death,  and  death  reproduces  life,  through  end- 
loss  circles  of  being,  f^om  the  proud  tyrant  man  down  to  tlio 
blind  worm  bis  iron  heel  tramples  in  the  earth.  Then  wherefore 
should  we  hang  out  this  black  banner  for  those  who  are  beyond 
the  laws  of  change  and  chance) 

"  Yea,  they  have  finish'd  : 
For  them  there  is  no  longer  any  future. 
No  evil  hour  knocks  at  the  door 

With  tidings  of  mishap— far  off  are  they,  ^ 

Beyond  desire  or  fear."  ^; 

It  is  the  dismal  adjuncts  of  death  which  have  invested  it  with 
those  superstitious  terrors  that  we  would  fain  see  removed.  The 
gloom  arising  from  these  melancholy  pageants  forms  fi  black 
cloud,  whose  dense  shadow  obscures  the  light  of  life  to  the 
living.  And  why,  we  ask,  should  death  be  inve&ted  with  such 
horror?  Death  in  ifaBclf  is  not  dreadful ;  it  is  but  the  change  of 
one  mode  of  being  for  another — the  breaking  forth  of  the  winge<l 
soul  from  its  earthly  chrysalis;  or,  as  an  old  Latin  poet  has  so 
happily  described  it — 

"  Thus  life  for  ever  runs  its  endless  race, 
Death  as  a  line  which  but  divides  the  space-- 
A  stop  whicli  can  but  for  a  moment  last, 
A  point  between  the  future  and  the  peutJ' 

iN'ature  presents  in  all  her  laws  such  a  beautiful  and  wonder- 
ful harmony,  that  it  is  as  impossible  for  death  to  produce  discord 
among  them,  as  for  night  to  destroy,  by  the  intervention  of  its 
shadow,  U^  splendour  of  th<^  coming  day.  Were  men  taught 
from  infancy  to  regard  death  as  a  natural  consequence,  a  £xed 
law  of  their  being,  instead  as  an  awful  punishment  for  on — 


^T 


144 


Un  IN  TBI  OUBARIVOfl. 


i 


as  the  friend  and  benefiMtor  of  mankind,  not  the  remorseless 
tyrant  and  persecutor — to  die  'vronld  no  longer  be  considered  an 
evil.  Let  this  hideous  skeleton  be  banished  into  darkness,  and 
replaced  by  a  benignant  angel,  wiping  away  all  tears,  healing  all 
pain,  burying  in  oblivion  all  sorrow  and  care,  calming  every 
turbulent  passion,  and  restoring  man,  reconciled  to  his  Maker,  to 
a  state  of  purity  and  peace ;  young  and  old  would  then  go  forth 
to  meet  him  with  lighted  torches,  and  hail  his  approach  with 
songs  of  thanksgiving  and  welcome. 

And  this  is  really  the  case  with  all  but  the  desperately  wicked, 
who  show  that  they  despise  the  magnificent  boon  of  life  by  the 
bad  use  they  make  of  it,  by  their  blasphemous  defiance  of  Qod 
and  good,  and  their  unwillingness  to  be  renewed  in  his  image. 

The  death  angel  is  generally  met  with  more  caln&ness  by  the 
dying  than  by  surviving  friends.  By  the  former,  the  dreaded 
enemy  is  hailed  as  a  messenger  of  peace,  and  they  sink  tranquilly 
into  his  arms,  with  a  smile  upon  their  lips. 

The  death  of  the  Ohristian  is  a  beautifbl  triumph  over  the  fears 
of  life.  In  Him  who  conquered  death,  and  led  captivity  captive, 
he  finds  the  firiition  of  his  being,  the  eternal  blessedness  pro- 
mised to  him  in  the  Gospel,  which  places  him  beyond  the  wants 
and  woes  of  time.  The  death  of  such  a  man  should  be  celebrated 
as  a  sacred  festival,  not  lamented  as  a  dreary  execution, — as  the 
era  of  a  new  birth,  net  the  extinction  of  being. 

It  is  true  that  death  is  a  profound  sleep,  from  which  no  one 
can  awaken  to  tell  his  dreams.  But  why  on  that  account  should 
we  doubt  that  it  is  less  blessed  than  its  twin  brother,  whose 
resemblance  it  bears,  and  whose  presence  we  all  sedulously 
court  ?  Invest  sleep,  however,  with  the  same  dismal  garb ;  let 
your  bed  be  a  coffin,  your  canopy  a  pall,  your  night-dress  a 
shroud ,  let  the  sobs  of  mourners,  and  the  tolling  of  bells  lull 
you  to  repose, — and  few  persons  would  willingly,  or  tranquilly, 
close  their  eyes  to  sleep. 

And  thee,  this  absurd  fashion  of  wearing  black  for  months  and 
years  for  the  dead ;  let  us  calmly  consider  the  philosophy  of  the 
thing,  its  use  and  abuse.  Does  it  confer  any  benefit  on  the  dead  ? 
Does  it  afford  any  consolation  to  the  living?  Morally  or  physic- 
ally, does  it  produce  the  least  good  ?    Do«s  it  soften  one  regretful 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLXARINaS. 


145 


pang,  or  dry  one  bitter  tear,  or  make  the  wearers  wiser  or  better? 
If  it  does  not  prodaoo  any  ultimate  benefit,  it  should  be  at  once 
discarded  as  a  superstitions  relic  of  more  barbarous  times,  when 
men  could  not  gaze  on  the  simple,  unveiled  face  of  truth,  but 
obscured  the  clear  daylight  of  her  glance  under  a  thousand 
fantastic  masks. 

The  ancients  were  more  consistent  in  their  mourning  than  tlio 
civilized  people  of  the  present  day.  They  sat  upon  the  ground 
and  fasted,  with  rent  gannents,  and  ashes  strewn  upon  their 
heads.  This  mortification  of  the  flesh  was  a  sort  of  penance  in- 
flicted by  the  self-tortured  mourner  for  his  own  sins,  and  those 
of  the  dead.  If  this  grief  were  not  of  a  deep  or  lasting  nature, 
the  mourner  found  relief  for  his  mental  agonies  in  humiliation 
and  personal  suffering.  He  did  not  array  himself  in  silk,  and 
wool,  and  fine  linen,  and  garments  cut  in  the  most  approved 
fashion  of  the  day,  like  our  modern  beaux  and  belles,  when  they 
testify  to  the  public  their  grief  for  the  loss  of  relation  or  friend, 
in  the  most  expensive  and  becoming  manner. 

Verily,  if  we  must  wear  our  sorrow  upon  our  sleeve,  why  not 
return  to  the  sackcloth  and  ashes,  as  the  most  consistent  demon- 
stration of  that  grief  which,  hidden  in  the  heart,  surpasseth 
show,  '^ 

Bat,  then,  sackcloth  is  a  most  unmanageable  material.  A 
handsome  figure  would  be  lost,  buried,  annihilated,  in  a  sack- 
tiloth  gown ;  it  would  be  so  horribly  rough ;  it  would  wound  the 
delicate  skin  of  a  fine  lady ;  it  could  not  be  confined  in  graceful 
folds  by  clasps  of  jet,  and  pearl,  and  ornaments  in  black  and  gold. 
"Sackcloth?  Faugh! — away  with  it.  It  smells  of  the  knotted 
scourge  and  the  charnel-house."  We,  too^  say,  "  Away  with  it  I" 
True  grief  has  no  need  of  such  miserable  provocatives  to  woe. 

The  barbarians  who  cui  and  disfigured  their  feces  for  the  dead, 
showed  a  noble  contempt  of  the  world,  by  destroying  those  per- 
sonal attractions  which  tne  loss  of  the  beloved  had  taught  them 
to  despise.  But  who  now  would  have  the  fortitude  and  self- 
denial  to  imitate  such  an  example?  The  mourners  in  crape,  and 
silk,  and  French  merino,  would  rather  tZie  themselves  than  sacri- 
fice their  beauty  at  the  shrine  of  such  a  monstrous  sorrow.        ^^ 

How  often  have  I  heard  a  knot  of  gossips  exclaim,  as  some 


149 


Lat9  l^  VHS  OLBARINOS. 


* 


widow  of  a  gentl«man  in  fallen  cironmstanoes  glided  by  in  her 
rusty  weeds,  "  What  shabby  black  that  woman  wears  for  her 
husband  I  I  should  be  ashamed  to  appear  in  public  in  such  faded 
mourning." 

And  yet,  the  purchase  of  that  shabby  blach  may  have  cost  the 
desolate  mourner  and  her  orphan  children  the  price  of  many  a 
necessary  meal.  Ah,  this  putting  of  a  poor  family  into  black, 
and  all  iJie  funeral  trappings  for  pall-bearers  and  mourners,  what 
a  terrible  afEur  it  is  1  what  anxious  thoughts  I  what  bitter  heart- 
aches it  costs  I 

But  the  usages  of  society  demand  the  sacrifice,  and  it  must  be 
made.  The  head  of  the  family  has  suddenly  been  removed  from 
his  earthly  toils,  at  a  most  complicated  crisis  of  his  affairs,  which 
are  so  involved  that  scarcely  enough  can  be  collected  to  pay  the 
expenses  of  the  funeral,  and  put  his  family  into  decent  mourning, 
but  every  exertion  must  be  made  to  do  this.  The  money  that 
might,  after  the  funeral  was  over,  have  paid  the  rent  of  a  small 
house,  and  secured  the  widow  and  her  young  family  from  actual 
want,  until  she  could  look  around  and  obtain  some  situation  in 
which  she  could  earn  a  living  for  herself  and  them,  must  all  be 
sunk  in  confonjomg  to  a  useless  custom,  upheld  by  pride  and 
vanity  in  the  name  of  grief. 

"How  will  the  funeral  expenses  ever  be  paid?"  exclaims  the 
anxious,  weeping  mother.  "  When  it  is  all  over,  and  the  mourn- 
ing bought,  there  will  not  remain  a  single  copper  to  find  us  in 
bread."  The  sorrow  of  obtaining  this  useless  outward  show  of 
grief  engrosses  all  the  available  means  of  the  family,  and  that  is 
expended  upon  the  dead  which  might,  with  oarefiil  management, 
have  kept  the  living  from  starving.  Oh,  vanity  of  vanities! 
there  is  no  folly  on  earth  that  exceeds  the  vanity  of  this  1 

There  are  many  persons  who  put  off  their  grief  when  they  put 
on  their  niQurning,  and  it  is  a  miserable  satire  on  mankind  to 
see  these  sombre-clad  beings  in  festal  halls  mingling  with  the  gay 
and  happy,  their  melancholy  garments  affording  a  painful  c(Hi- 
trast  to  light  laughter,  and  eyes  sparkling  with  pleasure. 

Their  levity,  however,  must  not  be  mistaken  for  hypocrisy. 
The  wosrid  is  in  £»ult,  net  they.  Their  grief  is  already  over, — 
gone  like  a  oload  from  b^ore  the  sun;  but  they  are  forced  to 


un^  i|r  THB  ousABXKaa. 


W 


to 


wear  black  for  a  giteen  time.  They  are^  true  to  their  nature, 
which  teaches  them  that  "no  grief  with  man  is  permanent," 
that  the  storms  of  to-day  will  not  darken  the  heavens  to-morrow. 
It  is  complying  with  a  lying  custom  that  makes  them  hypocrites; 
and,  as  the  world  always  jadges  by  appearances,  it  so  happens 
that  by  adhering  to  one  of  its  conyentional'niles,  appearances  in 
this,  instance  are  against  them. 

Kay,  the  very  persons  who,  in  the  first  genuine  ontbqrst  cf 
natural  grief  besought  them,  to  moderate  their  sorrow,  to  dry 
their  tears,  and  be  comforted  for  the  loss  they  had  sustained,  arer 
among  ihe^st  to  censure  them  for  following  advice  so  common 
and  useless.  Tears  are  as  necessary  to  the  afflicted  as  showers 
are  to  the  parched  earth,  and  are  the  best  and  sweetest  remedy 
for  excessive  grief. 

To  the  mourner  we  would  say — ^Weep  on;  nature  requires 
your  tears.  They  are  sent  in  mercy  by  Him.who  wept  at  the 
grave  of  his  friend  Lazarus.  The  man  of  sorrows  himself  taught 
us  to  weep. 

We  once  heard  a  very  beautifhl  volatile  young  lady  exclaim, 

:  with  something  very  like  glee  in  her  look  and  tone,  after  reading 

>a  letter  she  had  received  by  the  post,  with  its  ominous  black 

bordering  and  seal—"  Grandmamma  is  dead !    We  shall  have  to 

go  into  deep  mourning.    I  am  so  glad,  for  black  is  so  becoming 

to  me  1" 

An  old  aunt,  who  was  present,  expressed  her  surprise  at  this 
indecorous  avowal;  when  the  young  lady  replied,  with  great 
na^eti — "  I  never  saw  grandmanmia  in  my  life.    I  cannot  be 
■>  expected  to  feel  any  grief  for  her  death." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  the  aunt.    "  But  why,  th«D,  make  a  show 
,.  of  that  which  you  do  not  feel  ?" 

"  Oh,  it's  the  custom  of  the  world.  You  know  we  must..  It 
would  be  considered  shocTcing  not  to  go  into  very  deep  mourning 
for  such  a  near  relation." 

The  young  lady  inherited  a  very  nice  legacy,  too,  firom  hw 
grandmamma;  and,  had  she  spoken  the  truth,  she  would  have 
said,  I  cam/not  toeepforjoyy  . 

Her  monrning^  in  cozisequenee^  was  of  the  deepwt  and  most 
expensive  kind ;  and  she  really  did  look  oharming  in  lur  *>  lun^a^ 


UTE  IN  THE  OLBABIKOS. 


i  i 


a'hlaek  crape  honnetP^  as  she  skipped  before  the  glass,  admir- 
ing herself  and  it,  when  it  came  home  fresh  from  the  milliner^s. 

In  contrast  to  the  pretty  yonng  heiress,  we  knew  a  sweet 
orphan  ^1  whose  grief  for  the  death  of  her  mother,  to  whom 
she  was  devotedly  attached,  lay  deeper  tlian  this  hollow  tinsel 
show ;  and  yet  the  painfal  thought  that  she  was  too  poor  to  pay 
this  mark  of  respect  to  the  memory  of  her  beloved  parent,  in  a 
manner  suited  to  her  birth  and  station,  added  greatly  to  the 
poignancy  of  her  sorrow. 

A  &mily  Who  had  long  been  bnrthened  with  a  cross  old  aunt, 
who  was  a  martyr  to  rheumatic  gout,  and  whose  violent  temper 
kept  the  whole  house  in  awe,  and  whom  they  dared  not  offend 
for  fear  of  her  leaving  her  wealth  to  strangers,  were  in  the  habit 
of  devoutly  Wishing  tibe  old  lady  a  happy  release  from  her  suffer- 
ings. When  this  long  anticipated  evisnt  at  length  took  place,  the 
very  servionts  were  put  into  the  deepest  mourning.  What  a 
solemn  farce — ^we  should  say,  lie — ^was  this! 

The  daughters  of  a  wealthy  farmer  had  prepared  everything  to 
attend  the  great  agricultural  provincial  ishow.  Unfortunately,  a 
grandfather  to  whom  they  all  seemed  greatly  attached,  died 
most  inconveniently  the  day  before,  and  as  they  seldom  keep  a 
body  in  Canada  over  the  second  day,  he  was  buried  early  in  the 
morning  of  the  one  appointed  for  their  journey.  They  attended 
the  remains  to  the  grave,  but  after  the  frineral  was  over  they  put 
off  their  black  garments  and  started  for  the  show,  and  did  not 
resumd  them  again  until  after  their  return.  People  may  think 
this  very  shocking,  but  it  was  not  the  laying  aside  the  black  that 
was  so,  but  the  fact  of  their  being  able  to  go  from  a  grave  to  a 
scene  of  confusion  and  gaiety..  The  black  clothes  had  nothing  to 
do  with  this  want  of  feeling,  which  would  have  remained  the 
same  under  a  black  or  a  scarlet  vestment. 

A  gentleman  in  this  neighbourhood,  since  dead,  who  attended 
a  public  ball  the  same  week  that  he  had  seen  a  lovely  child  con- 
signed to  the  earth,  would  have  remained  the  same  heartless 
parent  dressed  in  the  deepest  sables. 

"So  instance  that  I  have  narrated  of  the  business-like  manner 
in  which  Canadians  treat  death,  is  more  ridiculoutuy  ntrikjuig 
fl>aik  the  following : — 

♦ '      ' '""  '    '  ■    j. 

•  ■  »  .;■   ■ 

■.,  ■■     f    ,-       ■  If"        -  ■  -  -  ,      -  -  . 


UrB  IN  TBS  OLBABINGfli. 


149 


The  wife  of  a  rioh  meohanio  had  a  brother  Ijiog,  it  was  sap- 
posed,  at  the  poicc  of  death.  His  sister  sent  a  note  to  m%  re- 
questing me  to  relinquish  an  engagement  I  had  made  with  a 
sewing  girl  in  her  favour,  as  she  wanted  her  immediately  to 
make  tip  her  mourning^  the  doctor  having  told  her  that  her 
brother  could  not  live  many  days. 

"  Mrs. is  going  to  be  beforehand  with  death,"  I  said,  as  I 

gave  the  ^rl  the  desired  release.  "  I  have  known  instances  of 
persons  being  too  late  with  their  moumii^  to  attend  a  funeral, 
but  this  is  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of  it  being  made  in  anUoi- 
pation." 

After  a  week  the  girl  returned  to  her  former  employment. 

"  Well,  Anne,  is  Mr. dead  ?" 

Ko,  ma'am,  nor  likely  to  die  this  time ;  and  his  sister  is  so 
vexed  that  she  bought  such  expensive  mourning,  and  all  for  no 
purpose  I" 

The  brother  of  this  provident  lady  is  alive  to  this  day,  the 
husband  of  a  very  pretty  wife,  and  the  father  of  a  family,  while 
she,  poor  body,  has  been  consigned  to  the  grave  for  more  than 
three  years. 

During  her  own  dying  illness,  a  little  girl  greatly  disturbed  her 
sick  mother  with  the  noise  she  made.  Her  husband,  as  an  in- 
ducement to  keep  the  child  quiet,  said,  "  Mary,  if  you  do  not 
quit  that,  I'll  whip  you ;  but  if  you  keep  still  like  a  good  girl, 
you  shall  go  to  ma's  funeral." 

An  artist  cousin  of  mine  was  invited,  with  many  other  mem- 
bers of  the  Boyal  Academy,  to  attend  the  funeral  of  the  cele- 
brated !N'ollekens  the  sculptor.  The  party  filled  twelve  mourning 
coaches,  and  were  furnished  with  silk  gloves,  scarfs,  and  hatbands, 
and  a  dinner  was  provided  after  the  ftmeral  was  over  at  one  of 
the  Irrge  hotels.  "  A  menier  set  than  we  were  on  that  day," 
said  my  cousin,  ^^  I  never  saw.  We  all  got  jovial,  and  it  was 
midnight  before  any  of  us  reached  our  respective  homes.  The 
whole  aflGair  vividly  brought  to  my  mind  that  description  of  the 
*  Gondola,'  given  so  graphically  by  Byron,  that  it 

'  Contain'd  much  fun, 
Liko  mourninBT  cQsxihsB  when  the  funersil's  doss.'  " 

Some  years  ago  I  witnessed  the  funeral  of  a  young  lady,  the 


'vips 


m 


Ltn  ts  Tin  ovtAxoK^e, 


only  child  of  rwy  wealthy  parents,  who  resided  in  Bedford-'^  '>arec 
The  heiress  of  tiieir  enviable  riches  was  a  T>ery  delioate,  fragile- 
looking  girl,  and  on  the  ^y  that  she  attained  her  majority  her 
parents  gav^  a  laige  dinner  party,  followed  by  a  ball  in  the  eve- 
ning, to  o(  <)brate  the  event.  It  was  daring  the  winter;  the 
night  was  very  cold,  tbe  crowded  rooms  overheated,  the  young 
lady  thinly  bet  mj^;mficently  dlad.  She  tooli:  a  chill  in  leaving 
the  close  ball-room  for  the  large,  ill-Warmed  supper-room,  and 
three  days  sfber,  the  hope  of  these  rich  people  lay  insensible  on 
her  bier. 

I  heard  from  every  one  that  called  upoi>  Hrs.  L ^  the 

relative  and  firiend  with  whom  I  was  staying,  of  the  magnificent 

funeral  that  would  be  given  to  2i£i8S  0- .    Ah,  little  heeded 

that  pale  crushed  flower  of  yesterday,  the  pomp  that  was  to  con- 
vey her  from  the  hot-bed  of  luxury  to  the  cold,  damp  vault  of 
St.  Giles's  melancholy  looking  church  t  I  stood  at  Mrs.  L '  ^6 
window,  which  commanded  a  view  of  the  whole  square,  to 
watch  the  tMrocession  pass  up  Bnssell-street  to  the  place  of  inter- 
ment. The  morning  was  intensely  cold,  and  large  snow-flakes 
fell  lazily  and  heavily  to  the  earth.  The  poor  dingy  sparrows, 
with  their  feathers  ruffled  up,  hopped  moumftilly  along  tho 
pavement  in  search  of  food ;  they, 

"  In  Bpite  of  all  their  feathers,  were  a-cold." 

The  mutes  that  attended  the  long  line  of  mourning  coaches 
stood  motionless,  leaning  on  tholr  long  staffe  wreathed  with 
white,  like  so  many  figures  that  the  frost-king  had  stiffened  into 
Stone.  The  hearse,  with  its  snowy  plumes,  drawn  by  six  milk- 
white  horses,  nnght  have  served  for  the  regal  car  of  his  northern 
majesty,  so  ghost-like  and  chilly  were  its  sepulchral  trappings. 
At  length  the  coffin,  covered  with  black  velvet,  and  a  pall  lined 
with  white  silk  and  fringed  with  silver,  was  hofhe  from  the 
house  and  deposited  iu  the  gloomy  depths  of  the  stately  hearse. 
The  hired  mourners,  in  their  sable  dresses  and  long  white  hat- 
bands and  scarfs,  rode  slowly  forward  mountod  on  white  horses, 
to  attend  this  bride  of  death  to  her  last  resting  place.  The  first 
three  carriages  that  followed  contained  the  family  physician  and 
surgeon,  a  dwgyman,  and  the  male  servants  of  the  house,  in 


V" 


••.  id' 


LITB  m  7:1s  0LBABING8. 


161 


deep  sables.  The  family  carriage  too  was  there,  but  emptpy  and 
of  a  procession  in  which  145  priyate  carriages  made  a  conspicn- 
ons  show,  all  bnt  those  ennmerated  above  were  empty.  Strangers 
drove  strange  horses  to  that  vast  Ameral,  and  hired  servants  wero 
the  only  members  of  tiie  fiftmily  that  conducted  the  last  sdon  of 
that  family  to  the  grave.  Truly,  it  was  the  most  dismal  specta- 
cle we  ever  witnessed,  and  we  torned  from  it  sick  at  heart,  and 
with  eyes  moist  with  tears — ^not  shed  for  the  dead,  for  she  had 
escaped  from  this  vexations  vtmity,  bat  from  the  heartless  mock- 
ery of  aU  this  fictitioas  woe. 

The  expense  of  such  a  f oneral^probably  in  '>lved  many  hundred 
pounds,  which  had  been  better  bestowed  on  charitable  purposes. 

Another  evil  arising  out  of  this  absurd  custom,  is  the  high 
price  attached  to  black  clothing,  on  account  of  the  necessity  that 
compels  people  to  wear  it  for  so  long  a  period  after  the  death  of 
a  near  relation,  making  it  a  matter  of  still  greater  difficulty  for 
the  poorer  class  to  comply  with  the  usages  of  society.  i, 

"But  who  cares  about  the  poor,  whetiier  they  go  into  m,ourn- 
ing  for  their  friends  or  no  if  it  is  a  matter  of  no  consequence." 

Ah,  there  it  is.  And  this  is  not  the  least  forcible  argument 
we  have  to  advance  against  this  useless  custom.  If  it  becomes  a 
moral  duty  for  the  rich  to  put  on  black  for  the  death  of  a  friend, 
it  nust  be  morally  necessary  for  tho  poor  to  do  the  same.  We 
see  uo  difference  in  the  degret j  of  m'^~al  faeling ;  the  soul  of 
man  is  of  no  rank,  but  of  equal  value  in  our  eyes  whether  belong- 
ing to  rich  Of  poor.  But  this  usage  is  so  general,  and  the  neglect 
of  it  considered  such  a  disgrace,  that  it  leaves  a  very  wide  door 
open  for  the  entrance  of  false  pride. 

Poverty  is  an  evil  which  most  persons,  however  humble  their 
st'ations  may  be,  most  carefully  endeavour  to  conceal.  To  avoid 
an  exposure  of  their  real  circumstances,  they  will  deprive  them- 
selves of  the  common  necessaries  of  life,  and  incur  debts  which 
they  have  no  prospect  of  paying,  rather  than  allow  their  neigh- 
bours to  suspect  that  they  cannot  afford  a  Jiandaome  funeral  and 
good  mouminga  for  any  deceased  mi  mber  of  their  family.  If 
such  persons  would  but  follow  the  dictates  of  true  wisdom,  hon- 
esty, and  truth,  no  dread  of  the  opinion  of  others  should  tempt 
them  to  do  what  they  cannot  afford.    Their  grief  for  the  dead 


162 


LIFE   IN  THE  OLBARINOB. 


B! 


would  not  be  less  si  3re  if  they  folio-wed  the  body  of  the  beloved 
in  their  ordinary  costume  to  the  grave ;  nor  is  the  spectacle  less 
imposing  divested  of  all  the  solemn  foppeiy  which  attends  the 
ftmeral  of  persons  who  move  in  respectable  society. 

Some  years  i^,  when  it  was  the  fasliion  in  England  (and  may 
be  it  remains  the  fbshion  still)  to  g^ve  black  silk  scarfs  and  hat- 
bands at  ftmerals,  mean  and  covetous  persons  threw  themselves 
in  the  way  of  picking  np  these  stray  loaves  and  fi^es.  A  lady, 
who  lived  in  the  same  town  with  me  after  I  was  married,  boasted 
to  me  that  her  husband  (who  always  contrived  to  be  a  necessary 
attendant  on  such  occasions)  found  her  in  all  the  black  silk  she 
required  for  articles  of  dress,  and  that  he  had  not  purchased  a 
pair  of  gloves  for  many  years. 

About  two  years  before  old  King  George  the  Third  died,  a 
report  got  about  tliat  he  could  not  survive  many  days.  There 
was  a  general  rush  among  all  ranks  to  obtain  mourning.  Up 
went  the  price  of  bli  ck  goods ;  Norwich  crapes  and  bombazines 
rose  ten  per  cent.,  an  J  those  who  were  able  to  secure  a  black 
garment  at  any  price,  to  show  their  loyalty,  were  deemed  very 
fortunate.  And  after  all  this  fuss,  and  hurry,  and  confusion,  the 
the  poor  mad  old  king  disappointed  tiie  speculators  in  sables,  and 
lived  on  in  darkness  and  mental  aberration  for  two  whole  years. 
The  mourning  of  some  on  that  occasion  was  real,  not  imaginary. 
The  sorrow  with  them  was  not  for  the  hinges  deaths  but  that  he 
had  not  died.  On  these  public  occasions  of  grief,  great  is  the  stir 
and  bustle  in  economical  families,  who  wish  to  show  a  decent 
concern  for  the  death  of  the  monarch,  but  who  do  not  exactly 
like  to  go  to  the  expense  of  buying  new  clothes  for  such  a  short 
period  as  a  court  mourning.  All  the  old  family  stores  are  rum- 
maged carefnlly  over,  and  every  stuff  gown,  worn  ribbon,  or 
shabby  shawl,  that  can  take  a  black  dye,  is  lianded  over  to  the 
vat ;  and  these  second-hand  black  garments  have  a  more  mourn- 
ful appeceranee  than  the  glossy  suits  of  the  gay  and  wealthy,  for 
it  is  actually  humiliating  to  wear  such,  as  they  are  both  unbecom- 
ing to  the  young  and  old.  Black,  which  is  the  most  becoming 
and  convenient  color  for  general  wear,  especially  to  the  old  and 
middle-aged,  would  no  longer  be  regarded  with  religious  horror 
as  the  type  of  mortaiity  and  decay,  but  would  take  its  place  on 


• 


t 


\ 


■r 


UFK  IK  TRS  OLKARINGB. 


108 


'Ji ;. ,^.v 


flie  same  shelf  with  the  gay  tints  that  form  the  motley  ^ronps 
in  onr  handsome  stores.  Oonld  influential  people  be  ibnnd  to 
ei'pose  the  folly  and  vanity  of  this  practice,  and  reftise  to  comply 
with  its  demands,  others  would  soon  be  glad  to  follow  their 
exam^  !e,  and,  before  many  years,  it  would  sink  into  contempt 
and  disuse. 

If  the  Americans,  the  most  practical  people  in  the  world, 
would  bnt  once  take  up  the  subject  and  publicly  lecture  on  its 
absurdity,  this  dismal  shadow  of  a  darker  age  would  no  longer 
obscure  our  leitreets  and  scare  onr  little  ones.  Men  would  wear 
their  grief  in  their  hearts  and  not  around  their  hats ;  and  widows 
would  be  better  known  by  their  serious  deportment  than 
by  their  weeds.  I  feel  certain  that  every  thinking  person,  who 
calmly  investigates  the  subject,  will  be  tempted  to  exclaim  with 
me,  "  Oh,  that  the  good  sense  of  mankind  would  unite  in  banish- 
ing it  for  ever  from  the  earth  1" 


THE  SONG  OP.  FAITH. 
"  House  of  clay ! — ^&ail  house  of  clay  I 
In  the  dust  thou  soon  must  lie ; 
Spirit !  spread  thy  wings — away, 
Strong  in  immortality ; 
To  worlds  more  bright 
Oh  wing  thy  flight, 
To  win  the  crown  and  robe  of  lig^t. 


"  Hopes  of  dust ! — false  hopes  of  dust  I 
Smiling  a&  the  morning  fair  ; 
Why  do  we  confiding  trust 
In  trifles  light  as  air  ? 
Like  flowers  that  wave 
Above  the  grave, 
Ya  cheer,  without  the  power  t«  save, 


"  Joys  0)''  earth  I — ^vain  joys  of  eaithf 
Sandy  your  foundations  be ; 
Mortals  ov^-crate  your  worth, 
Sought  through  life  so  eagerly. 

.    J*    , 


164 


U»   Zir   THl   CUBABINOS* 


Too  soon  w«  know 

That  team  must  flow,—  ^ , . 

That  blutf  is  stUl  aUied  to  woo  I 

"  Hamaa  love !— fond  human  love  I 

We  have  worahipp'd  at  ihy  shrine ; 
Envying  not  the  saints  above, 
While  we  deem'd  thy  power  divine. 
But  ah,  thy  light,. 
So  wildly  bdght, 
is  bom  of  earth-to  set  in  night. 

"  Love  of  heaven ! — ^love  of  heaven  ! 

Let  us  ;  ray  for  thine  increase ; 
Happiness  by  thee  is  given, 
,  .Hopes  and  joys  that  never  cease. 
With  thee  we'll  soar 
Death'n  dark  tide  o'er. 
Where  earth  can  stain  tlie  soul  no  more." 


f  •■' 


OHAPTER  IX. 

**  Dear  mutry  reader,  did  yon  ever  hear, 

WhL  i  travellinjr  on  the  world's  xrlde  beaten  road, 
The  ourlons  reasoning,  and  onii>f'>nfl  queer. 

Of  meo,  who  never  in  their  lires  bestow'd 
One  hour  on  study ;  whose  existence  seems 

A  thing  of  course — a  practical  delusion — 
A  day  of  ilrowning  clouds  and  sunny  gleams — 

Of  pain  and  pleasure,  mix'd  in  strange  oonftision ; 
Who  feel  they  move  and  breathe,  tbey  know  not  why- 
Are  bom  to  eat  and  drink,  and  sleep  and  die.'^ 


8.  M. 


The  shores  of  the  Prince  Edward  District  become  more  bold 
and  beantifnl  as  the  steamer  pursues  her  course  up  the  "  Long 
Beach."  Magnificent  trees  clothe  these  rugged  banks  to  their 
very  summits,  and  cast  dense  shadows  upon  the  waters  that  slum- 
ber at  their  feet.    The  slanting  rays  of  the  evenhig  sun  stream 

thmncrh  thAit*  ih\fik  fnlimrft-  n.nA  is-AfttrA  a  nAfvmrlr  nf  irnlrl  Arnnn/I 


UrS  IN  TUB  OLSAMNGB. 


US 


!  "■' 


ife.  ---- 

l*.'s,  ■■  ,>• 


the  corrogatod  trnnks  of  the  huge  oak  and  maple  trees  that 
tower  far  above  our  heads.  The  glorlona  waters  are  dyed  with 
a  thousand  chaDgeful  hues  of  crimson  and  safiOron,  and  reflect 
from  their  nnroffled  surface  the  gorgeous  tints  of  a  Oanadian 
sunset.  The  innes,  witJti  their  hearse-like  plumes,  loom  out  darkly 
against  the  glowing  evening  sky,  and  teovrn  >nsterely  upon  us, 
their  gloomy  aspect  affording  a  strikbig  contrast  to  the  sun- 
lighted  leaves  of  the  feathery  birch  and  the  rock  elm.  It  is  a 
lonely  hour,  and  one  that  nature  seems  to  have  set  apart  for 
prayer  and  praise ;  a  devotional  spirit  seems  to  breathe  over  the 
earth,  the  woods,  and  waters,  softening  and  harmonising  the 
whole  into  one  blessed  picture  of  love  and  peace, 

The  boat  has  again  crossed  the  bay,  and  stops  to  take  in  wood 
at  "  Roblin's  wharf."  We  are  now  beneath  the  shadow  6t  the 
*^  Indian  woods,"  a  reserve  belonging  to  the  Mohawks  in  the 
township  of  Tyendenaga,  about  twenty-four  miles  by  water  from 
Belleville.  A  broad  beh  of  forest  land  forms  the  background  to 
a  cleared  slope,  rising  gradually  from  the  water  until  it  roaches 
a  considerable  elevation  above  the  shore.  The  frontage  to  the 
bay  is  filled  up  with  neat  £arm-houses,  and  patches  of  buckwheat 
and  Indian  corn,  the  only  grain  that  rem^dns  unharvested  at  this 
season  of  the  year.  We  have  a  fijie  view  of  the  stone  church 
built  by  the  Indians,  which  stands  on  the  top  of  the  hill  about  a 
mile  from  the  water.  Queen  Anne  presented  to  this  tribe  three 
l^ge  marble  tablets  engraved  with  the  Ten  Commandments, 
which,  after  following  them  in  all  their  ramblings  for  a  century 
and  a  half,  now  grace  the  altar  of  this  church,  and  are  regarded 
with  groat  veneration  by  the  Indian  settlers,  who  seem  to  look 
upon  them  with  a  superstitious  awe.  The  church  is  built  in  the 
Gothic  style,  and  is  one  of  the  most  picturesque  viUage  churches 
that  I  have  seen  in  Canada.  The  Indians  contributed  a  great 
part  of  the  funds  for  erecting  this  boilding.  I  was  never  within 
the  walls  of  the  sacred  edifice ;  but  I  have  wandered  round  the 
quiet  peaceftd  burial-ground,  and  admirec?  the  lovely  prospect  it 
commands  of  the  bay  and  the  opposite  shores. 

One  side  of  the  churchyard  is  skirted  by  a  natural  grove  of 
forest  trees,  which  separates  it  from  the  parsonage,  a  neat  white 
wmiuiiig  m»b  tfouw  uie  wawr,  auu  auuiun   uav&  uvui  it>  ««  kuv 


>■ 


166 


LIFB   IN   THS   OLSARINGB. 


head  of  a  noble  sweep  of  land  covered  with  velvet  turf,  and 
resembliof;  greatly  a  gentleman's  park  at  home,  by  the  fine  groups 
of  stately  forest  trees  scattered  over  it,  and  a  semicircular  belt  * 
of  the  original  forest,  that,  sloping  from4he  house  on  either  side, 
extends  its  wings  until  it  meets  the  blue  waters  of  the  bay,  leav- 
ing between  its  green  arms  a  broad  space  of  cleared  land. 

The  first  time  my  eyes  ever  rested  on  this  beautiful  spot  it 
appeared  to  me  a  perfect  paradise.  It  was  a  warm,  balmy,  moon- 
light evening  in  June.  The  rich  resinous  odour  of  the  woods 
filled  the  air  with  delicious  perfume ;  fire-flies  were  glancing  like 
shooting  stars  aiiv>Qg  the  dark  foliage  that  hung  over  the  water, 
and  the  spirit  of  love  and  peace  sat  brooding  over  the  luxurious 
solitude,  whose  very  silence  was  eloquent  with  praise  of  the  great 
Kaker.    How  I  envied  the  residents  of  the  parsonage  their  lovely 

home !  How  disappointed  I  felt,  when  Mrs.  Q told  me  that 

she  felt  it  dull  and  lonely,  that  she  was  out  of  society,  and  that 
the  Indians  were  very  troublesome  neighbours  I  Kow,  I  have  no 
doubt  that  this  was  all  very  true,  and  that  I  should  have  felt  the 
same  want  that  she  did,  after  the  bewitching  novelty  of  the 
scene  had  become  familiar;  but  it  sadly  destroyed  -the  romance 
and  poetry  of  it  to  me  at  the  time. 

This  part  of  the  township  of  Tyendenaga  belongs  almost  exclu- 
uvely  to  the  Mohawk  Indians,  who  have  made  a  large  settlement 
here,  while  the  government  has  given  them  a  good  school  for 
instructing  their  children  in  the  Indian  and  English  languages ; 
and  they  have  a  resident  clergyman  of  the  Establishment  always 
at  hand,  to  minister  to  them  the  spiritual  consolations  of  reli- 
^on,  and  impart  to  them  the  blessed  truths  of  the  gospel.    The 

Rev.  S.  G^ was  for  some  years  the  occupant  of  the  pretty 

parsonage-house,  and  was  greatly  beloved  by  his  Indian  congre- 
gation. 

The  native  residents  of  these  woods  clear  farms,  and  build  and 
pliuit  like  their  white  neighbours.  They  rear  horses,  cattle^  and 
sheep,  and  sow  a  sufficient  quantity  of  grain  to  secure  them  from  \ 
want.  But  there  is  a  great  lack  of  order  and  regularity  in  all 
their  agricultural  proceedings.  They  do  not  make  half  as  much 
out  of  their  lands — which  they  suffer  to  he  overgrown  with 
thorns  and  thistles^-as  their  whita  neighboufs;  wutuei^uisuMf 


LIFE   IN  THB   OLSARIKOS. 


167 


tio  arrangements  within  doors  are  never  marlced  by  that  appear* 
ance  of  comfort  and  cleanliness,  whioh  is  to  be  seen  in  the 
dwellings  of  the  native  Canadians  and  emigrants  from  Eorope. 

The  red  man  is  out  of  his  element  when  he  settles  quietly  down 
to  a  farm,  and  yon  perceive  it  at  a  glance.  He  never  appears  to 
advantage  as  a  resident  among  civilized  men ;  and  >|ie  seems 
painfully  oonscions  of  his  inferiority,  and  ignorance  of  the  arts 
of  life.  He  has  lost  his  indentity,  as  it  were,  and  when  he 
attempts  to  imitate  the  customs  and  manners  of  the  whites,  he 
is  too  apt  to  adopt  their  vices  without  acquiring  their  industry 
and  perseverance,  and  sinks  into  a  sottish,  degraded  savage.  The 
proud  independence  we  admired  so  much  in  the  man  of  the 
woods,  has  disappeared  with  his  ..rnthfolness,  honesty,  and  sim- 
ple manners.  His  pure  blood  is  tainted  with  the  dregs  of  a 
lower  humanity,  degenerated  by  the  want  and  misery  of  over- 
populous  European  cities.  His  light  eyes,  crisp  hair,  and  whitey- 
brown  complexion,  too  surely  betray  his  mixed  origin ;  and  we 
turn  from  the  half-educated,  half-caste  Indian,  with  feelings  of 
aversion  and  mistrust. 

There  is  a  Mohawk  family  who  reside  in  this  township  of  the 
name  of  Loft,  who  hive  gained  some  celebrity  in  the  colony  by 
their  clever  represenvAtions  of  the  manners  and  customs  of  their 
tribe.  They  sing  Indian  songs,  dance  the  war-dance,  hold  coun- 
cils, and  make  grave  speeches,  in  the  characters  of  Indian  chiefs 
and  hunters,  in  an  artistic  manner  that  would  gain  the  applause 
of  a  more  fastidious  audiei  ce. 

The  two  young  squaws,  who  were  the  principal  performers  in 
this  travelling  Indian  opera,  were  the  most  beautiful  Indian 
women  I  ever  beheld.  There  was  no  base  alloy  in  their  pure 
native  blood.  They  had  the  large,  dark,  humid  eyes,  the  ebon 
locks  tinged  with  purple,  so  peculiar  to  their  race,  and  which 
gives  such  a  rich  tint  to  the  clear  olive  skin  and  brilliant  white 
teeth  of  the  denizens  of  the  Canadian  wilderness. 

Susannah  Loft  and  her  sister  were  the  leau  ideal  of  Indian 
women ;  and  their  graceful  and  symmetrical  figures  were  set  ofif 
to  great  advantage  by  their  picturesque  and  becoming  costume, 
which  in  their  case  was  composed  of  the  richest  materials.    Their 


IM 


UVB  IN  TBfl  OLBABIKOB. 


ootiDg  and  eairiage  were  dignified  and  qneen-Iike,  ancT  their  ap- 
pearanoe  aiagalarly  pleaaing  and  interesting. 

Sasannah,  the  eldest  and  certainly  the  most  graceful  of  these 
tmly  fascinating  girls,  was  unfortunately  killed  last  summer  by 
the  collision  of  two  steam-carriages,  while  travelling  profession- 
ally with  her  sister  through  the  States.  Those  who  had  listened 
with  charmed  ears  to  her  sweet  roice,  and  gia»d  with  admiring 
eyes  upon  her  personal  charms,  were  greatly  shocked  at  her 
untimely  death. 

A  littie  boy  and  girl  belong!  to  the  same  talented  family  have 
been  brought  before  the  public,  in  order  to  supply  her  place,  but 
they  have  not  been  able  to  fill  up  the  blank  occasioned  by  her 
loss. 

The  steamboat  again  leaves  the  north  shore,  and  stands  across 
for  the  stone  mills,  which  are  in  tLe  Prince  Edward  district,  and 
form  one  of  the  features  of  the  remarkable  scenery  of  what  is 
called  the  "  high  shore."  This  mountainous  ridge,  which 
descends  perpendicularly  to  the  water's  edge,^  is  still  in  forest ; 
and,  without  doubt,  this  is  the  most  romantic  portion  of  the  < 
bay,  whose  waters  are  suddenly  contracted  to  half  their  former 
dimensions,  and  glide  on  darkly  and  silently  between  these  steep 
wood-crowned  heights. 

There  is  a  small  lake  upon  the  highest  portion  of  this  table- 
land, whose  waters  are  led  down  the  steep  bank,  and  made  to 
work  a  saw-mill,  which  is  certainly  giving  a  very  unromantio 
turn  to  them.  But  here,  as  in  the  States,  the  beautiful  and  the 
ideal  uee  Instantly  converted  into  the  real  and  the  practical. 

This  "  lake  of  the  mountains  "  is  a  favourite  place  for  pic-nics 
and  pleasure  trips  from  Northport  and  Belleville.  Here  the  Sab- 
bath-school children  come,  once  during  the  summer,  to  enjoy  a 
ramble  in  the  woods,  and  spread  their  feast  beneath  the  lordly 
oaks  and  maples  that  crown  these  heights.  And  the  teetotallers 
marshal  their  bands  of  converts,  and  hold  their  cold  water  festi- 
val, beside  the  blue  deep  waters  of  this  mysterious  mountain- 
lake. 

Strange  stories  are  told  of  its  unfathomable  depth,  of  the ' 
quioksaiids  that  are  found  near  it,*and  of  its  being  supplied  firom 


LI»  XM  TBB  OUBAKIKOI. 


150 


the  far-off  inland  ocean  of  Lake  Huron.  Bnt  like  the  eore  in 
Tyendenaga,  of  which  everybody  in  the  neighbourhood  has  heard 
something,  bnt  which  nobody  haa  seen,  these  accounts  of  the 
lake  of  the  mountain  rest  only  npon  hearsay. 

The  last  rays  of  the  snn  still  lingered  on  wood  and  stream  when 
we  arrived  at  Pioton,  which  stands  at  the  head  of  the  "  long 
reach."  The  bay  here  is  not  wider  than  a  broad  river.  The 
banks  are  very  lofky,  and  enclose  the  water  in  an  oblong  form, 
round  which  that  part  of  the  town  which  is  near  the  shore  is 
built. 

Picton  is  a  very  beautiful  place  viewed  from  the  deck  of  the 
steamer.  Its  situation  is  novel  and  imposing,  and  the  number 
of  pretty  cottages  that  crown  the  steep  ridg-^  that  rises  almost 
perpendicularly  from  the  water,  p«veping  out  from  among  fioo 
orchixds  in  fiQl  bearinf^,  and  trim  gardens,  ^ve  it  quite  a  rural 
appearance.  The  steamboat  enters  this  f  j  bay  by  a  very  nar- 
row passage ;  and,  after  delivering  freight  and  passongers  at  tho 
wharf,  backs  out  by  the  way  she  jcti^-a  in.  There  ]^  no  taming 
a  large  vessel  round  this  long  Lalf-oircle  o^  deep  blue  water. 
Few  spots  in  Oanada  would  afford  a  finer  subject  for  the  artist's 
pencil  than  this  small  inland  town,  which  is  so  seldom  visited  by 
strangers  and  tourists. 

The  progress  to  wealth  and  importance  made  by  this  place  is 
strikingly  behind  that  of  Belleville,  which  far  exceeds  it  in  size 
and  population.  Three  years  ago  a  very  destructive  fire  con- 
sumed some  of  the  principal  buildings  in  the  town,  which  has 
not  yet  recovered  from  its  effects.  Trade  is  not  so  brisk  here  as 
in  Belleville,  and  the  tr^^ets  are  dull  and  monotonous,  when  com- 
pared witii  the  stir  .r  '  bustle  of  the  latter,  which,  during  the 
winter  season,  is  crowded  with  sleighs  from  the  country.  The 
Bay  of  Quinte  during  the  winter  forms  an  excellent  road  to  all 
the  villages  and  towns  on  its  shores.  The  people  from  the  oppo- 
site side  trade  more  with  the  Belleville  merchants  than  with 
those  in  their  own  district ;  and  during  the  winter  season,  when 
the  bay  is  completely  frozen  from  the  mouth  of  the  Trent  to 
Kingston,  loaded  teams  are  passing  to  and  fro  continually.  It  is 
the  favourite  afternoon  drive  of  young  and  old,  and  when  the 
wind,  sweeping  over  such  a  broad  surface  of  ice,  is  not  too  wld. 


rr 


160 


UVB  IN  TBS    CLBARINOS. 


I 


|i  ' 


I 


I  ;'v. 


and  yon  are  "weVL  wrapped  np  in  fars  and  buf&lo  robes,  a  sleigh- 
ride  on  the  ioe  is  very  delightfal.  Kot  that  I  oan  ever  wholly 
divest  myself  of  a  vague,  indistinct  sense  of  danger,  whilst 
rapidly  gliding  over  this  frozen  mirror.  I  woald  rather  be  out 
on  the  bay,  in  a  gale  of  wind  in  a  small  boat,  than  overtaken  by 
a  snow  storm  on  its  firozen  highways.  Still  it  is  a  pleasant  sight 
of  a  bright,  glowing,  winter  day,  when  the  landscape  glitters  like 
a  world  composed  of  crystak,  to  watch  the  handsome  sleighs, 
filled  with  well-dressed  men  and  women,  and  drawn  by  spirited 
horses,  dashing  in  all  directions  over  this  brilliaut  field  of  dazzling 
white. 

Night  has  fallen  rapidly  upon  us  since  we  left  Picton  in  the  dis- 
tance. A  darker  shade  is  upon  the  woods,  the  hills,  the  waters, 
and  by  th^  time  we  approach  Fredericksburgh  it  will  be  dark. 
This  too  is  a  very  pretty  place  on  the  nortli  side  of  the  bay ; 
beautiful  ordiards  and  meadows  skirt  the  water,  and  fine  bass- 
wood  and  willow-trees  grow  beside,  or  bend  over  the  waves. 
The  green  smooth  meadows,  out  of  which  the  black  stumps  rotted 
long  ago,  show  noble  groups  of  hickory  and  butternut,  and  sleek 
fat  cows  are  reposing  beneath  them,  or  standing  mid-leg  in  the 
small  creek  that  wanders  through  tbcm  to  pour  its  fairy  tribute 
into  the  broad  bay. 

We  must  leave  the  deck  and  retreat  into  the  ladies'  cabin,  for 
the  ear  from  the  wat^  grows  chilly,  and  the  sense  of  seeing  can 
no  longer  be  gratified  by  remaining  where  we  are.  But  if  you 
open  your  eyes  to  see,  and  your  ears  to  hear,  all  the  strange  say- 
ings and  doings  of  the  odd  people  you  meet  in  a  steamboat,  you 
will  never  lack  amusement. 

The  last  time  I  went  down  to  Kingston,  there  was  a  little  girl 
in  the  cabin  who  rejoiced  in  the  possession  of  a  v»ry  large 
American  doU,  made  so  nearly  to  resemble  an  infant,  that  at  a 
distance  it  was  easy  to  mistake  it  for  one.  To  render  the  decep- 
tion more  striking,  you  could  make  it  cry  like  a  child  by  pressing 
your  hand  upon  its  body.  A  thin,  long-faced  farmer's  wUb  oamo 
on  board,  at  the  wharf  we  have  just  quitted,  and  it  was  amusing 
to  watch  her  alternately  gazing  at  the  little  girl  and  her  doll. 

"  Is  that  your  baby,  Oisy  ?" 


I 


i( 


JToj,  it's  my  doll. 


« 


LIFB   IN   THS   0LBARI1T08. 


tm 


,:\ 


.  '^  Hi !  what  &  strange  doll  t  Isn't  that  something  oruommon  P 
I  took  it  for  a  real  child.  Look  at  its  bare  feet  and  hands,  and 
bald  head.  Well,  I  don't  think  it's  'zactly  right  to  make  a  piece 
of  wood  look  80  like  a  human  oritter." 

The  child  good-naturedly  pat  the  doll  into  the  wcMman's  hands, 
who,  happening  to  take  it  rather  rongblr.  the  wooden  baby  gave 
a  loud  squall ;  the  woman's  face  expr^sed  the  utmost  horror, 
and  she  dropped  it  on  the  floor  as  if  it  had  been  a  hot  coal. 

**  Gracious,  goodness  me,  the  thing's  alive  I" 

The  little  girl  langhed  heartily,  and,  taking  up  the  discarded 
doll,  explained  to  the  woman  the  simple  method  employed  to 
produce  the  sound. 

*  Well  it  do  sound  quite  natoraZ,"  said  her  astonished  com- 
panion. '•''  What  will  they  find  out  next  ?  It  beats  the  railroad 
and  the  telegraph  holler." 

'^  Ah,  but  I  saw  a  big  doll  that  could  speak  when  I  was  with 
mamma  in  New  York,"  said  the  child,  with  glistening  eyes. 

"  A  doll  that  could  speak  ?    You  don't  say.    Ob,  do  tell  I" 

While  the  young  lady  described  the  automaton  doll,  it  was 
amusing  to  watch  the  expressions  of  surprise,  wonder,  and  curi- 
osity, that  flitted  over  the  woman's  long  cadaverous  face.  She 
would  have  made  a  good  study  for  a  painter. 

A  young  relative  of  mine  went  down  in  the  steamboat,  to  be 
present  at  the  Provincial  Agricultural  Show  that  was  held 
that  year  in  the  town  of  Buckville,  on  the  St.  Lawrence.  It 
was  the  latter  end  of  September;  the  weather  was  wet  and 
stormy,  and  the  boat  loaded  to  the  water's  edge  with  cattle  and 
passengers.  The  promenade  decks  were  filled  up  with  pigs 
sheep  and  oxen.  Oows  were  looking  sleepily  in  at  the  open  doors 
of  the  ladies'  cabin,  and  bulls  were  fastened  on  the  upper  deck. 
Such  a  motley  grqup  of  bipeds  and  quadrupeds  were  never  before 
huddled  into  such  a  narrow  space ;  and,  amidst  all  this  din  and 
confusion,  a  Scotch  piper  was  playing  lustily  on  the  bagpipes, 
greatly  to  the  edification,  I've  no  doubt,  of  himself  and  the 
crowd  of  animal  life  around  him. 

The  night  came  on  very  dark  and  stormy,  and  many  of  tbe 
women  suffered  as  much  from  the  pitching  of  the  boat  as  if  thsy 
had  been  at  sea.    The  ladies'  cabin  was  crowded  to  overflowing ; 


162 


UWm  IM  THE  CLBARIVOS. 


I 


4very  sofiA,  bed,  and  ohair  waa  oocapied ;  and  my  young  Mend, 
who  did  not  feel  any  inoonvenienoe  from  the  storm,  was  greatly 
entertained  by  the  dialogaes  carried  on  across  the  cabin  by  the 
women,  who  were  reposing  in  their  bertha,  and  lamenting  over 
the  rough  weather  and  their  own  sufferings  in  consequence. 
They  were  moetly  the  wives  of  farmers  and  respectable  mechanics, 
and  the  language  they  used  was  neither  very  choice  nor  gram- 
matical. 

"  I  say,  Mrs.  0       » how  be  you  ?" 

"  I  feel  bad,  any  how,"  with  a  smothered  groan. 

"  Have  you  been  dck  ?"  ;< 

"Not  yet;  but  feel  as  if  I  was  going  to." 

"How's  your  head  coming  on,  Mrs.  N— —  8" 

"  It's  just  splitting,  I  thank  you." 

"  Oh,  ho\iv  awfol  the  boat  do  pitch  1"  cries  a  thurd.  v2%r 

"  If  she  should  sink,  I'm  afeard  we  shall  all  go  to  the  bottom." 

"  And  think  of  all  the  poor  sheep  and  oattit  I" 

"Well,  of  course,  they'd  have  to  go  too."  i 

"  Oh,  mi !  Ill  get  up,  and  be  ready  for  a  start,  in  ease  of  the 
worst,"  cried  a  young  girl. 

"  Mrs.  0 ^  do  ^ve  me  something  good  out  of  your  basket, 

to  keep  up  my  spirits."  ?^- 

"  Well,  I  will.  Oome  over  hcris  and  you  and  I  will  have  some 
talk.  My  basket's  at  the  foot  of  my  berth.  You'll  find  in  it  a 
small  bottle  of  brandy  and  some  crulls."  ., 

8o  up  got  [several  of  the  sick  ladies,  and  kept  up  their  spirits 
by  eating  cakes,  chewing  gum,  and  drinking  cold  brandy  punch. 

"  Did  Mrs.  H lose  much  in  the  fire  last  night  ?"  said  one.    ♦ 

"  Oh,  dear,  yes ;  she  lost  all  her  clothes,  and  three  large  jars 
of  preserves  she  made  about  a  week  ago,  and  sarce  in  accord- 


^nc6 


»* 


*x> 


There  was  an  honest  Yorkshire  farmer  and  his  wife  on  board, 
and  when  the  morning  at  lengdi  broke  through  pouring  rain  and 
driving  mist,  and  the  port  to  which  they  were  bound  loomed 
thi'ongh  the  haze,  the  women  were  very  anxious  to  know  if  their 
husbands,  who  slept  in  the  gentlemen's  cabin,  were  awake.         ^ 

"  They  am't  stirring  yet,"  said  Mrs.  G ^  "  for  I  hear  Isaao 

*  A  oonu&on  Yankee  phrtse,  often  used  instead  of  the  word  preportloB.      ^^ 


^  ■  ?:  ■ 

'•"'*■ 

''    ■         ■•     •■•, 

»,-■ 

\  ^ 

1         - 

*'','... 

i^ 

'■-"   * 

- 

• 

UVm  IN  THB  OLKABXirOS. 


led 


(meaning  her  hosband)  Greeting  below  " — ft  most  BxpneAve  term 
for  Tery  hard  snoring. 

The  same  IsaaOf  when  he  cftme  np  to  the  ladiee*  cabin  to  take 
his  wife  on  shore,  complained,  in  his  broad  Yorkshire  dialect, 
that  he  had  been  kept  awake  idl  night  bj  a  jovial  gentleman  who 
had  been  his  fellow^raveller  in  the  cabin, 

"  We  had  terrible  noisy  chap  in  t'oabin.    They  called  him  Mr. 

D ^  and  said  he  'twas  t'mayor  of  Belleyille;  bnt  I  thought 

they  were  a-fooning.  He  wonldiVt  sleep  himself,  nor  let  t'others 
sleep.  He  gat  piper,  an'  put  him  top  o'  table,  and  kept  him 
playing  all  t'night." 

One  woidd  tliink  thftt  friend  Isaac  had  been  hannted  by  the 
vision  of  the  piper  in  his  dreams ;  fo'r,  oertes,  the  jovial  bnzzing 
of  the  pipes  had  not  been  able  to  drown  the  deep  drone  of  his 
own  nasal  organ. 

A  gentleman  who  was  travelling  in  company  with  Sir  A — ^ 
told  me  an  anecdote  of  him,  and  how  he  treated  an  impertinent 
fellow  on  board  one  of  the  lake  boats,  that  greatly  amused 
me. 

The  state  cabins  in  these  large  steamers  open  into  the  great 
saloon ;  and  as  they  are  often  occupied  by  married  people,  each 
berth  contains  two  beds,  one  placed  above  the  other.  I^c  w  it 
often  happens,  when  the  boat  is  greatly  crowded,  that  two  pas- 
sengers of  the  same  sex  are.  forced  to  occupy  the  same  sleeping 

room.    This  was  Sir  A 's  case,  and  he  was  obliged,  though 

very  reluctantly,  to  share  his  sleeping  apartment  with  a  well- 
dressed  American,  but  evidently  a  man  cf  lo^^v  qtiiMding,  from 
the  familiarity  of  his  manners  and  the  bad  gramr  ui-  lie  used. 

In  the  morning,  it  was  necessary  for  one  gentleman  to  rise 
before  the  other,  as  the  space  In  front  of  their  bertho  was  too 
narrow  to  allow  of  more  than  one  performing  his  ablutions  at  a 
time. 

;  Our  Yankee  made  a  fair  start,  and  had  nearly  completed  his 
toilet,  when  he  suddenly  spied  a  tooth-brush  and  a  box  of  tooth- 
powder  in  the  dressing-case  his  companion  had  left  open  on  the 
washstmd.  Upon  these  he  pounced,  and  having  made  a  liberal 
use  of  them,  flung  them  back  into  the  case,  and  sat  dovm  upon 
the  only  chair  the  room  contained,  in  order  to  gratify  his  corio- 


in 


LIFK  IN  THK  XJLEAlUntrOS. 


hr 


eity  by  watching  how  his  8lee]^Dg  partner  went  through  the  same 
process. 

Sir  A———,  greatly  annoyed  by  the  fellow's  assurance,  got  ont 
of  bed ;  and  placing  the  washhand  basin  on  the  floor,  pnt  his 
feet  into  the  water,  and  commenced  scrubbing  his  toe-nails  with 
the  desecrated  tooth-brush.  Jonathan  watched  his  movements 
for  a  fbw  fiecands  in  idlent  horror ;  at  length,  unable  to  contain 
hipisel^  he  ezclai:ned — 

>'  Well,  stranger  t  that's  the  dirtiest  use  I  ever  see  a  tooth-brash  ^ 
pnt  to,  any  how." 

"I  saw  it  put  to  a  dirtier,  just  now,"  said  Sir  A ,  very 

coolly.    "  I  f  Iways  use  that  brush  for  cleaning  my  toes." 

The  Yankoe  turned  very  green,  and  fled  to  the  deck,  but  his 
nausea  was  not  sea-sickness. 

The  village  of  Nappanee,  on  the  north  side  of  the  Bay,  is 
situated  on  a-very  pretty  river  that  bears  the  same  name, — 
Kappanee,  in  the  liohawk  language,  signifying  flour.  The  village 
is  a  mile  back  from  the  Bay,  and  is  not  much  seen  from  the  water. 
There  are  a  great  many  mills  here,  both  grist  and  sawmills,  from 
which  circumstance  it  most  likely  derives  its  name. 

Amherst  Mand,  which  is  some  miles  in  extent,  stands  between 
Ontario  and  the  Bay  of  Quinte,  its  upper  and  lower  extremity 
forming  the  two  straits  that  are  called  the  Upper  and  Lower 
Gap, — and  the  least  breeze,  which  is  not  perceptible  in  the  other 
portions  of  the  bay,  is  felt  here.  Passing  through  these  gaps  on 
a  stormy  day  creates  as  great  a  nausea  as  a  short  chopping  sea 
on  the  Atlantic,  and  I  have  seen  both  men  and  women  retreat  to 
their  berths  to  avoid  disagreeable  consequences.  Amherst  Island 
is  several  miles  in  extent,  and  there  are  many  good  farms  in  high 
cnltivation  upon  it,  while  its  proximity  on  all  sides  to  the  water 
affords  excellent  sport  to  the  angler  and  gunner,  as  wild  ducks 
abound  in  this  vicinity.  .    ; 

Just  after  you  pass  the  bland  and  enter  the  lower  gap,  there 
are  three  very  small  islands  in  a  direct  line  with  each  other,  that 
are  known  as  Ihe  Three  Brothers.  A  hermit  has  taken  up  his 
abode  on  the  centre  one,  and  built  a  very  Bobinson  Ornsoe  look- 
ing hut  near  the  water,  composed  of  round  logs  «ind  large  stonea 
cemented  together  with  clay.    H<)  gets  his  living  by  fishing  and 


LIFB   IN  THB   CLEARINGS. 


195 


fowling,  and  yon  see  bis  well-worn,  weatheivbeaten  boat,  drawn 
up  in  a  little  oove  near  bis  odd  dwelling.  I  was  very  onrions  to 
obtain  some  particulars  of  tbe  private  bie  .ory  of  tbis  ecoentrio 
individnal,  bnt  beyond  wbat  I  bave  jnst  related,  my  informants 
could  tell  me  notbiug,  or  wby  be  bad  oliosen  this  solitary  abode 
in  such  an  exposed  situation,  and  so  far  aparii  from  all  tbe  com- 
forts of  social  life. 

Tbe  town  of  Batb  is  the  last  place  of  any  note  on  tbis  portion 
of  tbe  Bay,  untQ  you  arrive  at  Kingston. 

A  JIOaNING  SONG. 


IS 


"  The  young  wheat  is  springing 

All  tender  and  green, 
And  the  blackbird  is  singing 

The  branches  between ; 
The  leaves  of  the  hawthorn 

Have  burst  fom  their  prison, 
And  the  bright  eyes  of  morn 

On  the  earth  have  arisen. 


"  While  sluggards  are  sleeping. 

Oh  hasten  with  me : 
While  the  night  mists  are  weeping 

Soft  showers  on  each  tree, 
And  nature  is  glowing 

Beneath  the  warm  beam. 
The  young  de.v  is  throwing 

O'er  mou>.w  i>in  and  stream. 


"  And  the  shy  colt  is  bounding 

Across  the  wide  mead, 
And  Vis  wild  hoo&  resounding, 

In...  '^ises  his  speed ; 
Now  starting  and  crossing 

At  each  shadow  he  sees. 
Now  wantonly  tossing 

His  mane  in  the  breeze. 


166 


LUB  nr  THE  OUBARUrGB. 


fit 


**  The  tky-laxk  is  shaking 

The  dew  from  her  wing, 
And  the  clover  £)riv?:<ki;ag, 

Sosjrs  upwardr;  \  >  aljig'. 
In  rapture  outpouvai^ 

Her  anthem  of  iovo, 
Where  anij-ils  adc.tng 

Vv  aft  preiues  aboro 


v^i- 


w 


"  Shi  >ji  dull  jlcep  from  your  pillow, 

Yoxm'j  dreamer  ariisc, 
On  tljfs  le^A'ds  '.)'■  vhe  willow 

The  devi  -drcj)  stiii  lie-^i, 
And  the  niyYn'.  in  thril'Jug 

His  Bong  Stom  the  brake, 
And  with  mclcdy  filling 

The  wild  woods — awake !" 


■^*f 


,-4' 


»:  «f 


..i*  ■ 


^A 


OHAPTSE  X. 

**!  SARI  not  think— I  cannot  pr&y ; 

To  name  the  name  of  Uod  were  sin : 
No  grief  of  mine  can  wash  away 

The  conscioufjneas  of  gidlt  within. 
The  stain  of  blood  Iti  on  my  hand, 

The  curse  of  Cain  ia  on  my  brow ; — 
I  see  that  ghastly  phantom  stand 

Between  me  and  the  sunshine  now  I 
That  mocldttg  ftuse  still  haunts  my  dreams, 

That  blood-shot  eye  tliat  never  sleeps, 
In  night  and  darkness — oh,  it  gleams, 

Like  red-hot  steel — but  never  weeps ! 
And  still  it  bends  itb  burning  gaze 

On  mine,  till  drops  of  terror  start 
From  my  hot  brow,  and  hell's  fierce  blaso 

Is  kindled  in  my  b?ain  and  heart. 
I  long  for  death,  yet  dare  not  die. 

Though  life  is  now  a  .  sary  curse ; 
But  oh,  that  dread  et      ■  ? 

May  bring  a  ponis'  I'ar  worse  I" 


;ii. 


So  much  has  been  write =/»ri:     *t  the  city  of  Kingston,  so  lately 
t^d  seat  of  gov©minent,"«.i  i^  ;>•  temarkable  for  its  fort? 'i  cations, 


7 


i..     ''    ■ 


^i  i'^Svl 


LITS  IK  THX  OLXARINOS. 


167 


and  the  importanoe  it  evor  must  be  to  the  colony  as  a  military 
depot  and  place  of  defence,  that  it  is  not  my  intention  to  enter 
into  a  minnte  description  of  it  here.  I  was  greatly  pleased,  as  I 
think  every  stranger  most  be,  with  its  general  aspect,  particularly 
as  seen  from  the  water,  in  which  respect  it  has  a  great  advantage 
over  Toronto.  The  nnmber  of  vessela  lying  at  the  different 
whar&,  and  the  constant  arrival  of  noble  steamers  both  from  the 
United  States  and  the  Upper  and  Lower  Province,  ^ve  it  a  very 
business-like  appearance.  Yet,  upon  landing,  yon  are  struck 
with  the  want  of  stir  and  bustle  in  the  principle  thoroughfares, 
when  contrasted  with  the  size  and  magnitude  of  the  streets. 

The  removal  of  the  seat  of  government  has  checked  the  growth 
of  Kingston- for  a  while ;  but  you  feel,  while  examining  its  com- 
manding position,  that  it  must  always  be  the  key  of  the  Upper 
Province,  the  great  rallying  point  in  case  of  war  or  danger.  The 
market  house  is  a  very  fine  building,  and  the  wants  of  the  cit^ 
could  be  supplied  within  its  area,  were  it  three  times  the  size 
that  it  is  at  present.  The  market  is  decidedly  one  of  the  chief 
attractions  of  the  place. 

The  streets  are  wide  and  well  paved,  and  there  are  a  great  many 
fine  trees  in  and  about  Eiugston,  which  give  to  it  the  appearance 
of  an  European  town.  The  houses  are  chiefly  of  brick  and  stone 
along  the  public  thoroughfares,  and  there  are  many  neat  private 
dwellings  inclosed  in  trim  well-kept  gardens.  The  road  leading 
to  the  Provincial  Penitentiary  runs  parcel  with  the  water,  and 
forms  a  delightful  drive. 

It  is  about  three  years  ago  that  I  paid  a  visit  with  my  husband 
to  tlie  Penitentiary,  and  went  over  every  part  of  it.  I  must  own 
that  I  felt  a  greater  curiosity  to  see  the  convicts  than  the  prison 
which  contained  them,  and  my  wishes  were  completely  gratified, 
as  my  husband  was  detained  for  several  hours  on  business,  and  I 
had  a  long  interval  of  leisure  to  examine  the  workshops,  where 
the  convicts  were  employed  at  their  different  trades,  their  sleep- 
ing cells,  chapel,  and  places  of  punishment.  The  silent  system 
is  maintained  here,  no  conversation  being  allowed  between  the 
prisoners.  T  was  surprised  at  the  neatness,  cleanliness,  order, 
and  reg  larity  of  all  the  arrangaments  in  the  vast  building,  and 
Bk<u  mofe  ai»iiOiiL^eu  msa,  lony  oi*  uny  strong,  aouve  looKing  men. 


<? 


168 


UFK  IN  THB  OLKARINOB. 


:?/- 


■  i 


nnfetterod,  -with  the  free  use  of  their  limbSf  could  be  controlled 
by  one  person,  who  sat  on  a  tall  chair  as  overseer  of  each  ward. 
In  several  instances,  particularly  in  the  tailoring  and  shoe-making 
department,  the  overseers  were  small  delicate-looking  men ;  bnt 
such  is  the  force  of  habit,  and  the  want  of  moral  courage  which 
generally  accompanies  guilt,  that  a  word  or  a  look  from  these 
men  was  sufficient  to  keep  them  at  work. 

The  dress  of  the  male  convicts  was  warm  and  comfortable, 
though  certainly  not  very  elegant,  consisting  (for  h  was  late  in 
the  fall)  of  a  thick  woollen  jacket,  one  side  of  it  being  brown, 
the  other  yellow,  with  trousers  to  correspond,  a  shirt  of  coarse 
factory  cotton,  but  very  clean,  and  good  stout  shoes,  and  warm 
knitted  woollen  socks.  The  letters  P.  P.  for  "  Provincial  Peni- 
tentiary^" are  sewed  in  col  ared  cloth  upon  the  dark  side  of  the 
jacket.  Their  hair  is  cut  veiy  short  to  the  head,  and  they  wear 
a  cloth  cap  of  the  same  colours  that  compose  their  dress. 

The  cells  are  narrow,  just  wide  enough  to  contain  a  small  bed, 
a  stool,  and  a  wash-bowl,  and  the  prisoners  are  divided  from  each 
othi^r  by  thick  stone  walls.  They  are  locked  in  every  night  at 
six  ydock,  and  their  cell  is  so  constructed,  that  one  of  the  keep- 
ers can  always  look  in  upon  the  cocvict  withou.'  his  being  aware 
of  the  scrutiny.  The  bedding  was  ncrupnlonsly  clean,  and  I 
saw  a  plain  Bible  in  each  cell 

There  is  a  sort  of  machi  'e  resembling  a  stone  co£Sn,  in'  which 
mutinous  convicts  are  confined  for  a  given  time.  They  stand  in 
an  upright  position ;  and  as  there  ai  o  air-holes  for  breathing,  the 
look  and  name  of  the  thing  is  more  dreadM  than  the  punish- 
ment, which  cannot  be  the  least  painful.  I  asked  the  gentleman 
who  showed  us  over  the  building,  what  country  sent  the  most 
prisoners  to  the  "  Penitent' ary  ?"  He  smiled,  and  told  me  to 
"  guess."    I  did  so,  but  w^^.  wrong.  , 

"  No,"  said  he ;  "  we  have  more  French  Canadians  and  men 
of  colour.  Then  Irish,  English,  and  runaway  loafers  from  the 
States.  Of  the  Scotch  we  have  very  few ;  but  they  are  very  bad 
— the  most  ungovernable,  sullen,  and  disobedient.  When  a 
Scotchman  is  bad  enough  to  be  brought  here,  he  is  like  Jeremiah's 
bad  figs — only  fit  for  the  gallows." 
.^,  Mr.  Hoodie's  baili£&  had  taken  d<>wn  a  young  f(^ow,  ebont 


Lirx   IN   T^K    CLKARIKD8. 


160 


\ 


\    . 


twenty  years  of  age,  who  tad  been  eonyioted  at  the  assizes  for 
stealing  onrioufi  coins  from  a  person  who  had  bronght  them  out 
to  this  country  as  old  family  relics.  The  evidence  was  more  oir- 
cnmstantial  than  positive,  and  many  persons  believed  the  lad 
innocent. 

He  had  kept  up  his  spirits  bravely  on  the  Voyage,  and  was 
treated  with  great  kindness  by  the  men  who  had  him  in  custody ; 
but  when  once  within  the  massy  walls  of  the  huge  buildint?,  his 
courage  seemed  to  forsake  him  all  at  once.  We  passed  him  as 
ho  sat  on  the  bench,  while  the  barber  was  cutting  bis  hair  and 
shaving  o5  his  whiskers.  His  handsome  suit  had  been  removed 
— ^he  waa  in  the  party-coloured  dress  before  described.  There 
was  in  his  fiace  an  expression  of  great  anguish,  and  tears  were 
rolling  in  quick  succession  down  his  cheeks.  .Poor  fellow!  I 
should  hardy  have  known  him  agaib,  so  completely  was  he  hum- 
bled by  his  present  position. 

Mr.  M ^y  told  me  that  they  had  some  men  in- the  "  Peniten- 
tiary "  who  had  returned  three  different  times  to  it,  and  had 
grown  so  attached  to  their  prison  that  they  preferrsd  being  there, 
well  clothed  and  well  fed,  to  gainin. ;  a  precarious  living  else- 
where. 

Executions  in  Canada  are  so  rare,  even  /  lurder,  that  many 
atrocious  criminals  are  found  within  these  >^ttii<; — ^men  and  women 
— ^who  could  not  possibly  have  escaped  the  gallows  in  England. 

At  twelve  o'clock  I  followed  Mr.  M to  the  great  hall,  to 

see  the  prisoners  dine.  The  meal  consisted  of  excellent  soups, 
with  a  portion  of  the  meat  which  bad  been  boiled  in  it,  potatoes, 
and  brown  bread,  all  very  clean  and  good  of  their  kind.  I  took 
a  plate  of  the  soup  and  a  piece  of  the  bread,  and  enjoyed  both 
greatly. 

I  could  not  kelp  thinking,  while  '  ^g  these  men  in  their 
comfortable  dresses,  taking  their  wholesome,  well-cooked  meal, 
how  much  better  they  were  fed  and  lodged  than  thousands  of 
honest  industrious  men,  who  had  to  maintain  latge  families  upon 
a  crust  of  bread,  in  the  great  manufacturing  cities  at  home. 
/  Most!%f  these  men  had  very  bad  countenanoe&,  and  I  never 
felt  so  much  convinced  of  the  truth  of  phrenology  as  while  look- 
in(;  at  their  heads.    The  extraordinary  formation,  or  rather  mal- 

8 


^.m 


u 


no 


UFB  IN  THB  OLEARINOB. 


formation,  of  some  of  them,  led  me  to  thiok  that  their  possessors 
ViQTe  hardly  aocomitable  for  their  actions.  One  man  in  partion- 
Jar  -^  >  ''ad  committed  a  very  atrocious  murder,  and  was  oon- 
fiQi)<A  xW  7J>k),  had  a  most  singular  head,  such  an  one,  indeed,  as  I 
nc.wi  beibre  saw  on  a  hnman  body.  It  was  immensely  large  at 
the  base,  and  appeared  perfectly  roxmd,  while  at  tl  o  crown  it 
rose  to  a  point  like  a  sugar-loaf.  He  was  of  a  dull,  drab-colorod 
complexion,  with  large  prominent  eyes  of  a  pale  green  color ;  his 


expression,  th'^  t< 


..lulsively  cruel  and  sinister.    The  eye 


i^ 


! 
I 


i 


involuntarily  singled  him  out  among  all  his  comrades,  as  some- 
thing too  terrible  to  escape  observation. 

Among  such  a  number  of  men,  448,  who  were  there  present, 
I  was  surprised  at  seeing  so  few  with  red  or  fair  hair.  1  noticed 
this  to  my  companion.  He  had  never  observed  it  before,  but 
8^d  it  was  strange.  The  convicts  were  mostly  of  a  dull  grey 
complexion,  large  eyed,  stolid  looking  men,  or  with  very  Mack 
hair,  and  heavy  black  brows. 

I  could  only  account  for  this  circumstance  from  the  fact,  that 
tliough  fair-hai:  ed  people  are  often  violently  passionat(>i  and  easily 
excited,  their  anger  is  sudden  and  quick,  never  premeuit*/  ^d,  but 
generally  the  work  oi  the  moment.  Like  straw  on  a  'e,  it 
kindles  into  a  fierce  blaze,  but  it  is  over  in  an  inptant.  They  sel- 
dom retain  it,  or  bear  malice.  Not  so  the  dull,  putty-oolarofl^ 
sltiggish  man.  He  is  slow  to  act,  but  he  broods  over  a  supposed 
affiront  '>r  injury,  and  never  forgets  it.  He  plans  the  moment  of 
retaliation,  and  stabs  his  enemy  when  least  prepared.  There 
irere  m  any  sto^  1,  heavy-looking  men  in  that  prison — ^many  with 
black,  jealous,  Lery-looking  eyes,  in  whose  gloomy  depths  suspi- 
cion and  revenge  seemed  to  lurk.  Even  to  lookat  these  men  as 
ihiij  passed  on  'ieemed  to  arouse  their  vindictive  feelings,  and 
they  scowled  didc'ainfnlly  upon  us  as  t>ey  walked  on  to.  their 
-  respective  place- 

There  w*  one  nan  amcng  these  dark,  fierce-looking  criminals, 
who,  froT         pr  ud  carria^^e  and  bearing,  particularly  arrested 

my  attention.    1   -oiated  him  out  to  Mr. .    "That  man  has 

the  appearance  of  an  educated  person.    He  looks  as  if%e  had 
been  a  gentleman."  ,  % 

j^- " Ton  are  right,"  was  bis  rfsplj.    "He  ioda  a  geniieman,  the 


U»  XM  TUB  0LBARIM08. 


Ill 


son  of  a  district  judge,  and  broaght  np  to  the  law.  A  clever 
man  too ;  but  these  walls  do  not  contain  a  worse  in  every  respect. 
He  was  put  in  here  for  arson,  and  an  attempt  to  murder.  Many 
a  poor  man  has  been  hang  with  half  his  guilt." 

"  There  are  two  men  near  him,"  I  said,  "  who  have  not  the 
appearance  of  crtminals  at  all.    What  have  they  done  ?" 

"  They  are  not  felons,  but  two  soldiers  i  ut  in  here  for  a  week 
for  disorderly  conduct." 

"  What  a  shame,"  I  cried,  '^  to  degrade  them  in  this  manner ! 
What  good  can  it  do  ?" 

"  Jh,"  said  he,  laughing ;  "  It  will  make  them  desert  to  the 
States  the  moment  they  get  out." 

"  And  those  two  little  boys ;  what  are  they  here  for  ?" 

"  For  murder !"  whispered  he. 

I  almost  sprang  from  my  seat ;  it  appeared  too  dreadful  to  bo 
true.  , 

"  Yes,"  he  continued.  "  That  child  to  the  right  is  in  for  shoot- 
ing his  sister.  The  other,  to  the  left,  for  killing  a  boy  of  hiaown  > 
age  with  a  hoe,  and  burying  him  under  the  roots  of  a  fallen  tree. 
Both  of  these  boys  come  from  the  neighbourhood  of  Peterboro.' 
(  Your  district,  by  the  bye,  sends  fewer  convicts  to  the  "  Peniten- 
tiary "  than  any  part  of  the  Upper  Province." 

It  was  with  gre^it  pleasure  I  heard  him  say  this.  During  a 
residence  of  thirteen  years  at  Belleville,  there  has  not  been  one 
execution.  The  county  of  Hastings  is  still  unsttuned  "with  the 
blood  of  a  criminal.  There  is  so  little  robbery  committed  in  this 
part  of  the  country,  that  the  thought  of  thieves  or  housebreakers 
never  for  a  moment  disturbs  our  rest.  This  is  not  the  case  in 
Hamilton  and  Toronto,  where  daring  acts  of  housebreaking  are 
of  frequent  occurrence. 

The  constant  influx  of  mna  vay  slaves  from  the  States  has 
added  greatly  to  the  criminal  lists  on  the  frontier.  The  addition 
"of  these  people  to  our  population  is  not  much  to  be  coveted. 
The  slave,  from  his  previous  habits  and  education^  does  not  always 
make  a  good  citizen.  During  the  last  assizes  at  Cobnrg,  a  black 
man  and  his  wife  were  condemned  to  be  hung  for  a  most  horrible 
murder,  and  their  son,  a  young  man  of  twenty  years  of  age 
offered  the  sheriff*  to  hasg  bis  own  fath^sr  ,Sffi4jw^Qtlw7  Jusr  »  ji«w 


t    ■     ■■■• 


172 


Un   IN  TBI   OLK.r.KQB. 


: 


anit  of  olothes.  Those  who  hrad  the  black  man,  and  place  him 
above  the  white,  let  them  prodace  in  the  whole  annals  of  human 
crime  a  more  atrocious  one  than  this  I  Yet  it  uxu  not  a  hanging 
matter. 

I  heard  a  gentleman  exclaim  with  honest  indignation,  when 
this  anecdote  was  told  in  his  hearings ^*  If  a  man  were  wanting 
to  hang  that  monster,  I  wonld  do  it  myself." 

Bat  leaving  the  male  convicts,  I  must  now  introduce  my  reader 
to  the  female  inmates  of  this  house  of  woe  and  crime.  At  the 
time  of  my  visit,  there  were  only  forty  womeain  the  "  Peniten- 
tiary." This  speaks  much  for  the  superior  moral  training  of  the 
feebler  sex.  My  chief  object  in  visiting  their  department  was  to 
look  at  the  celebrated  murderess,  Qrace  Marks,  of  whom  I  had 
heard  a  great  deal,  not  only  from  the  public  papers,  but  from  the 
gentleman  who  defended  her  upon  her  trial,  and  whose  able  plead- 
ing saved  her  from  the  gallows,  on  which  her  wretched  accomplice 
closed  his  guilty  career. 

As  many  of  my  English  readers  may  never  have  heard  even  the 
name  of  this  remarkable  criminal,  it  may  not  be  uninteresting  to 
them  to  give  a  brief  sketch  of  the  events  which  placed  her  here. 

About  eight  or  nine  years  ago — I  write  from  memory,  and  am 
not  very  oertun  as  to  dates — a  young  Irish  emigrant  girl  was 
hired  into  the  service  of  Oaptain  Kinnaird,  an  officer  on  half-pay, 
who  had  pnrchaaed  a  farm  about  thirty  miles  in  the  rear  of 
Toronto  ;*but  the  name  of  the  tovmship,  and  the  county  in  which 
it  was  situated,  I  have  forgotten ;  but  this  is  of  little  consequence 
to  my  narrative.  Both  circumstances  could  be  easily  ascertained 
by  the  curious.  The  captain  had  been  living  for  some  time  en 
very  intimate  terras  with  his  housekeeper,  a  handsome  young 
woman  of  the  name  of  Hannah  Montgomery,  who  had  been  his 
servant  of  all  work.  Her  familiarity  with  her  master,  who,  it 
appears,  was  a  very  fine-looking,  gentlemanly  person,  had  render- 
ed her  very  impatient  of  her  former  menial  employments,  and 
she  soon  became  virtually  the  mistress  of  the  house.  Qrace 
Marks  was  hired  to  wait  upon  her,  and  perform  all  the  coarse 
drudgery  that  Hannah  considered  herself  too  fine  a  lady  to  do.  '^- 

While  Hannah  occupied  the  parlour  with  her  master,  and  sat 


at  his  table,  her  lusoleut  airs  of  Superiority  arcused  the  jealousy 


r 


Uni   IN   THB   OLBARIirOS. 


178 


and  envy  of  Grace  Marks,  and  the  man-servant,  Maodennot,  vrho 
considered  themselves  quite  saperior  to  their  self-elected  mistress. 
Maodermot  was  the  son  of  respectahle  parents ;  bnt  from  being  a 
wild,  ungovernable  boy,  he  became  a  bad,  vicious  man,  and  early 
abandoned  the  parental  roof  to  enlist  for  a  soldier.  He  was  soon 
tired  of  his  new  profession,  and  deserting  from  his  regiment, 
escaped  detection,  and  emigrated  to  Canada.  Having  no  means 
of  his  own,  he  was  glad  to  engage  with  Oaptain  Kinnaird  as  his 
servant,  to  whom  his  character  and  previous  habits  were  un- 
known. 

These  circumstances,  together  with  what  follows,  were  drawn 
from  his  confession,  made  to  Mr.  Mac — ^ie,  who  had  conducted 
his  defence,  the  night  previous  to  his  execution.  Perhaps  it  will 
be  better  to  make  htm  the  narrator  of  his  own  story. 

**  Grace  Marks  was  hired  by  Oaptain  Einnaird  to  wfdt  upon 
his  housekeeper,  a  few  days  after  I  entered  his  service.  She  was 
a  pretty  girl,  and  very  smart  about  her  wwk,  but  of  a  silent, 
sullen  temper.  It  was  very  difficult  to  know  when  she  was 
pleased.  Her  age  did  not  exceed  seventeen  years.  After  the 
work  of  the  day  was  over,  she  and  I  generally  were  left  to  our- 
selves in  the  kitchen,  Hannah  being  entirely  taken  up  with  her 
master.  Grace  was  very  jealous  of  the  difference  made  between 
her  and  the  housekeeper,  whom«he  hated,  and  to  whom  she  was 
often  very  insolent  and  saucy.  Her  whole  conversation  to  me 
was  on  this  subject.  'What  is  she  better  than  us?'  she  would 
say,  *  that  she  is  to  be  treated  like  a  lady,  and  eat  and  drink  of 
the  best.  She  is  not  better  born  than  we  are,  oc  bettor  educated. 
I  will  not  stay  here  to  be  domineered  over  by  her.  Either  she 
or  I  must  soon  leave  this.'  Every  little  complaint  Hannah  made 
of  me,  was  repeated  to  me  with  cruel  exaggerations,  till  my 
dander  was  up,  and  I  began  to  regard  the  unfortunate  woman  as 
our  common  enemy.  The  good  looks  of  Grace  had  interested 
roe  in  her  cause ;  and  though  there  was  something  about  the  girl 
that  I  could  not  exactly  like,  I  had  been  a  very  lawless,  dissipat- 
ed fellow,  and  if  a  woman  was  young  and  pretty,  I  cared  very 
little  about  her  character.  Grace  was  sullen  and  proud,  and  not 
very  easily  won  over  to  my  purpose ;  but  in  order  to  win  her  liking, 
if  possible,  I  gave  a  ready  ear  to  all  her  discontented  repinings. 


174 


UFB  nr  THB  OLEARnrOCk 


I    I 


**One  day  Captain  Einnmrd  went  to  Toronto,  to  dinw  his 
half-yearns  pay,  and  left  word  with  Hannaih  that  he  wonld  be 
back  by  noon  the  next  day.  She  had  made  some  complaint 
against  us  to  him,  and  he  had  promised  to  pay  ns  off  on  his 
return.  This  had  come  to  the  ears  of  Grace,  And  her  hatred  to 
the  housekeeper  was  increased  to  a  tenfold  degree.  I  take 
heaven  to  witness,  that  I  had  no  designs  against  the  life  of  the 
unfortunate  woman  when  my  master  left  the  house. 

"  Hannah  went  out  in  the  afternoon,  to  visit  some  friends  she 
had  in  the  neighbourhood,  and  left  Grace  and  I  alone  together. 
This  was  an  opportunity  too  good  to  be  lost,  and,  instead  of 
minding  our  work,  we  got  recapitulating  our  fancied  wrongs 
over  some  of  the  oaptain*s  whisky.  I  urged  my  suit  to  Grace ; 
but  she  would  not  think  of  anything,  or  listen  to  anything,  but 
the  insults  and  injuries  she  had  received  from  Hannuh,  and  her 
burning  thirst  for  revenge.  '  Dear  me,'  said  I,  half  in  jest, '  if 
you  hate  her  so  ranch  as  all  that,  say  but  the  word,  and  I  wiU 
soon  rid  you  of  her  for  ever.* 

"  I  had  not  the  leiut  idea  that  she  wonld  take  me  at  my  word. 
Her  eyes  flashed  with  a  horrible  light.  *  You  dare  not  do  it  1' 
she  replied,  with  a  scomfdl  toes  of  her  head. 

"  •  Dare  not  do  what?' 

**  *■  EjHI  that  woman  for  me  V  she  whispered. 

"  *  You  don't  know  what  I  dare,  or  what  I  dar'n't  do  1'  said  I, 
drawing  a  little  back  firom  her.  *  If  you  will  promise  to  run  off 
with  me  afterwards,  I  will  see  what  I  can  do  with  her.' 

**  *  I'll  do  anything  you  like ;  but  you  must  first  kiU  her.' 
. «  " '  You  are  not  in  earnest,  Grace  ?' 

"  *  I  moan  what  I  say.' 

"  *  How  shall  we  be  able  to  accomplish  it?  She  is  away  now, 
and  she  may  not  return  before  her  master  comes  back.' 

"  *  Kever  doubt  her.  She  will  be  back  to  see  after  the  houso, 
and  that  we  are  in  no  mischief.' 

"  *  She  sleeps  with  you  ?'  .  ' 

"  *  Not  always.    She  will  to-night.' 

"  *  I  will  wait  till  you  are  asleep,  aru  then  I  will  kill  her  with 
a  blow  of  the  axe  on  the  head.  It  will  be  over  in  a  minute. 
TVhich  side  of  the  bed  dees  she  lie  on?' 


I- 


LIFB   IN   THE   CLEARINGS. 


175 


?,  but     \ 
il  her      ' 
it, 'if 
IwiU 


*^, 


" '  She  always  sleeps  on  the  side  nearest  the  wall,  and  she  bolts 
the  door  the  last  thing  before  she  puts  out  the  light.  But  I  will 
manage  both  these  difficulties  for  you.  I  will  pretend  to  have 
the  toothache  very  bad,  and  will  ask  to  sleep  next  to  the  wall  to- 
night. She  is  kind  to  the  sick,  and  will  not  refuse  me ;  and  after 
she  is  asleep,  I  will  steal  out  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  and  unbolt  the 
door.  If  yon  are  true  to  yonr  promise,  yon  need  not  fear  that  I 
•hall  neglect  mine.*  '  . 

"  I  looked  at  her  with  astonishment.  *  Qod  God  \*  tiionght  I, 
*  can  this  be  a  woman  ?  A  pretty,  soft-looking  woman  too— and 
a  mere  girl!  What  a  heart  she  must  have!*  I  felt  equally 
tempted  to  tell  her  she  was  a  devil,  and  that  I  would  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  such  a  horrible  piece  of  business ;  but  she  looked 
so  handsome,  that  somehow  or  another  I  yielded  to  the  tempta- 
tion, though  it  was  not  without  a  struggle ;  for  conscience  loudly 
warned  me  not  to  injure  one  who  had  never  injured  me. 

''  Hannah  came  home  to  supper,  and  she  was  unusually  agree- 
able, and  took  her  tea  with  us  in  the  kitchen,  and  laughed  and 
chatted  as  merrily  as  possible.  And  Grace,  in  order  to  hide  the 
wicked  thoughts  working  in  her  mind,  was  very  pleasant  too, 
and  they  went  laughing  to  bed,  as  if  they  were  the  bes*.  friends 
in  tl  3  world. 

"  £  sat  by  the  kitchen  fire  after  they  were  gone,  with  the  axe 
between  my  knees,  trying  to  harden  my  heart  to  commit  the 
murder,;  but  for  a  long  time  I  could  not  bring  myself  to  do  it. 
I  thought  over  all  my  past  life.  I  had  been  a  bad,  disobedient 
son — a  dishonest,  wicked  man ;  but  I  had  never  shed  blood.  I 
had  often  feit  sorry  for  the  error  of  my  ways,  and  bad  even 
vowed  amendment,  and  prayed  God  to  forgive  me,  and  make  a 
better  man  of  me  for  the  time  to  come.  And  now,  here  I  was, 
at  the  instigation  of  a  young  girl,  contemplating  the  death  of  a 
fellow-creature,  with  whom  I  had  been  laughing  and  talking  on 
apparently  friendly  terms  a  few  minutes  ago.  Oh,  it  was  dread- 
ful, too  dreadful  to  be  true  I  and  then  I  prayed  God  to  remove 
the  temptation  from  me,  and  to  convince  me  of  my  sin.  *  Ah, 
but,'  whispered  the  devil,  '  Grace  Marks  will  laugh  at  you.  Shei 
will  twit  you  with  your  want  of  resolution,  and  say  that  ^e  is 
the  better  man  of  the  two.' 


170 


LIFE   IN   THE   CITJAniNOS. 


**I  sprang  up,  and  listened  at  their  door,  which  opened  into 
the  kitchen.  All  was  still.  I  tried  the  door ;— for  the  damnation 
of  my  soul,  it  was  open.  I  had  no  need  of  a  candle,  the  moon 
was  at  ftdl ;  Jaere  was  no  curtain  to  their  window,  and  it  ehone  ' 
directly  upon  the  hed,  and  I  could  see  their  features  as  plainly  as  - 
by  the  light  of  day.  Grace  was  either  sleeping,  or  pretending  to* 
sleep— I  think  the  latter,  for  there  was  a  sort  of  fiendish  smile 
upon  her  lips.  The  house-keeper  had  yielded  to  her  reqnest,  and 
was  lying  with  her  liead  out  over  the  bed-clothes,  in  the  best 
possible  manner  for  receiving  a  death-blow  upon  her  temples. 
She  had  a  sad,  troubled  look  upon  her  handsome  face ;  and  once 
she  moved  her  hand,  and  said  *  Oh  dear !'  I  wondered  whether 
she  was  dreaming  of  any  danger  to  herself  and  the  man  she 
loved.  I  raised  the  axe  to  give  the  death-blow,  but  my  arm 
seemed  held  back  by  an  invisible  hand.  It  was  the  hand  of  God. 
I  turned  away  from  the  bed,  and  left  the  room ;  I  could  not  do 
it.  I  sat  down  by  the  embers  of  the  fire,  and  cursed  my  own 
folly.  I  made  a  second  attempt — a  third — ^and  fourth :  yes,  even 
to  a  ninth — and  my  purpose  was  each  time  'Jefeated.  God 
seemed  to  fight  for  the  poor  creature ;  and  the  last  time  I  left  the 
room  I  swore,  with  a  great  oath,  that  if  she  did  not  die  till  I 
killed  her,  she  might  live  on  till  the  day  of  judgm  mt.  I  threw 
the  axe  on  to  the  wood  heap  in  the  shed,  and  went  to  bed,  and 
soon  fell  fast  asleep. 

**  In  the  morning  I  was  coming  into  the  kitchen  to  light  the 
fire,  and  met  Grace  Marks  with  the  pails  in  her  hand,  going  out 
to  milk  the  cows.  As  she  passed  me,  she  gave  me  a  poke  with 
the  pail  in  the  ribs,  and  whispered  with  a  sueei',  'Arn't  you  a 
coward  I' 

"  As  she  uttered  those  words,  the  devil,  against  whom  I  had 
fought  all  night,  entered  into  my  heart,  and  transformed  me  into 
a  demon.  All  feelings  of  remorse  and  mercy  forsook  me  from 
that  instant,  and  darker  and  deeper  plans  of  murder  and  theft 
Sashed  through  my  brain.  '  Go  and  milk  the  cows,'  said  I  with 
a  bitter  laugh,  '  and  you  shall  soon  see  whether  I  am  the  coward 
you  take  me  for.'  She  went  out  to  milk,  and  T  went  in  to  murder 
the  unsuspicious  housekeeper. 

"I  found  her  at  the  sink  in  the  kitchen,  waahiug  her  fhce  in  a 


IITB  nr  THB  OLBARINOB. 


IW 


tiln  basin.  I  bad  tbe  fatal  axe  in  my  band,  and  witbont  pausing 
for  an  instant  to  change  my  mind — for  bad  I  stopped  to  think, 
she  woald  have  been  living  to  this  day — I  straok  her  a  heavy 
blow  on  the  back  of  the  head  with  my  axe.  She  fell  to  tho 
gronnd  at  my  feet  without  uttering  a  word ;  and,  opening  the 
trap-door  that  led  from  the  kitchen  into  a  o^ar  where  we  kept 
potatoes  and  other  stores,  I  burled,  her  down,  closed  the  door, 
and  wiped  away  the  perspiration  that  was  streaming  down  my 
face.  I  then  looked  at  the  axe  and  laughed.  ^  Tes ;  I  have 
tasted  blood  now,  and  this  murder  will  not  be  tbe  last.  Grace 
Marks,  you  have  raised  the  devil — take  care  of  yourself  now  1* 

"  She  came  in  with  her  pails,  looking  as  innocent  and  demure 
as  the  milk  they  contained.  She  turned  pale  when  her  eye  mtbt 
mine.  I  have  no  doubt  but  that  I  looked  the  fiend  her  taunt  had 
matle  n.?. 

" '  Where's  Hannah  ?'  she  asked,  in  a  faint  voice. 

«  *'Dead,'  said  I.  *  What  1  are  you  turned  coward  now  t'  -  ■ 
; "  'Maodermot,  you  look  dreadful.  I  am  afraid  of  yoUy  not  of 
her.' 

" '  Aha,  my  girl !  you  should  have  thought  of  that  before.  The 
hound  that  laps  blood  once  will  lap  again.  You  have  taught  me 
how  to  kill,  and  I  don't  care  who,  or  bow  many  I  kill  now. 
When  Kinnaird  comes  home  I  Avill  put  a  ball  through  his  brain, 
and  send  him  to  keep  company  below  with  the  housekeeper.' 

"  She  put  down  the  pails — she  sprang  towards  me,  and  cling- 
ing to  my  arm,  exclaimed  in  frantic  tones — 

"' You  won't  kill  him  «♦ 

« '  By i  I  will  1  why  should  he  escape  more  than  Hannah  ? 

And  hark  you,  girl,  if  yoi:  dare  to  breathe  a  word  to  any  one  of 
my  intention,  or  tell  to  any  one,  by  word  or  sign,  what  I  have 
done,  I'U  kill  you  I' 

"  She  trembled  like  a  leaf.  Yes,  that  young  demon  trembled. 
'  Don't  kill  me,'  she  whined,  *  don't  kill  me,  Macdermot !  I  swear 
that  I  will  not  betray  you ;  and  oh,  don't- kill  liim !' 

"  *  And  why  the  devil  do  you  want  me  to  spare  him  ?'  ^ 

"' He  is  so  handsome !' 

•'*•■*"  Pshaw  I'  .-m-.iwmi^i;: '.■•■>    -.«.' ;  ,|;4.  »v^»\,ii--,>iiNi  ■ ,  i- 

-  •<  *  So  good-natured  !*    ' '  s  •      ->^ 


m 


IXn  IN  TBX  0LBAMK08. 


1 


Mi£Bpeoially  to  yon.  Oome,  Qraoe;  no  nonsenBO.  If  I  had 
thought  that  you  wero  jealous  of  your  master  and  Hannah,  1 
would  have  heen  the  last  man  on  earth  to  have  killed  her.  You 
belong  to  me  new ;  and  though  I  beUeve  the  devil  has  given  me 
a  bad  bargain  in  you,  yet,  such  as  you  are,  I  will  stand  by  you. 
And  now  strike  a  light  and  follow  me  into  the  cellar.  Yon  must 
help  me  to  put  Hannah  out  of  sight.' 

^'  She  never  shed  a  tear,  but  ahe  looked  dogged  and  sullen^  and 
did  aA  I  bid  her. 

"  That  cellar  presented  a  dreadful  spectacle.  I  can  hardly  Lear 
to  recall  it  now ;  but  then,  whan  ray  hands  were  still  red  with 
her  blood,  it  was  doubly  terrible.  Hiu^nah  Montgomery  was  not 
dead,  as  I  had  thought ;  the  blow  had  c  <2ly  stunned  her.  She 
had  partially  recovered  her  senses,  and  wiia  kneeling  on  one  kne^ 
as  we  descended  the  ladder  with  the  lighc.  I  don't  know  if  she 
heard  us,  for  she  must  have  been  blinded  with  the  blood  that  was 
flowing  down  her  face ;  but  she  certainly  heard  us,  a^d  raised 
her  clasped  hands,  as  if  to  implore  mercy. 

"  I  turned  to  Grace.  The  expression  of  her  livid  face  was  even 
more  dreadful  than  that  of  the  unfortunate  woman.  She  uttered 
no  cry,  but  she  put  her  hand  to  hei  head,  and  said-r 

" '  God  has  damned  me  for  this,' 

*^  *  Then  you  have  nothing  more  to  fear,'  says  I.  '  Give  me  that 
handkerchief  off  your  neck.'  She  gave  it  without  a  word.  I 
threw  myself  upon  the  body*  of  the  housekeeper,  and  planting 
my  knee  on  her  hreast,  1  tied  the  handkerchief  round  her  throat 
in  a  single  tie,  giving  Grace  one  end  to  hold,  while  I  drew  the 
other  tight  enough  to  finish  my  terrible  work.  Her  eyes  literally 
started  from  her  head,  she  ^ave  one  grc^,  and  all  was  over.  I 
then  cut  the  body  in  four  pieces,  and  turned  a  large  wash-tub 
over  them. 

*'  *  Now,  Grace,  you  may  come  up  and  get  my  breakfast.' 
-**  ^  Yes,  J£r.  M-r-^.'    You  will  not  perhaps  believe  me,  yet  I 
assure  you  that  we  went  up  stairs  and  ate  a  good  breakfast ;  and 
I  laughed  with  Grace  at  the  consternation  the  captdn  would, be 
in  when  he  found  that  Hannah  was  absent. 

"During  the  morning  a  pedlar  called,  who  travelled  the 
country  with  second-hand  articles  of  clothing,  taking  farm  pro- 


1-.  jlWvU.' 


UFS   IN   TIIS   OLSAAIKOS. 


1Y9 


duoe  in  excha^tge  for  his  wares.  I  bought  of  him  two  good 
linen-breasted  shirts,  whic£  had  been  stolen  from  some  genUe- 
man  by  his  housekeeper.  While  I  was  chatting  with  the  pedlar, 
I  remarked  that  Grace  had  left  the  house,  and  I  saw  her  through 
the  kitchen  window  taUriug  to  a  young  lad  by  the  well,  who 
often  came  across  to  borrow  an  old  gun  from  my  master  to  shoot 
ducks.  I  called  to  her  to  come  in,  which  she  appeared  to  me  to 
do  very  reluotantly.  J  felt  that  I  was  in  her  power,  and  I  was 
horribly  afraid  of  her  betraying  me  in  order  to  save  her  own 
and  the  captain's  lifSa.  I  now  hated  her  from  my  very  soul,  and 
could  have  killed  her  without  the  least  pity  or  remorse. 

" '  What  do  you  want,  Macdermot  V  she  said  sullenly. 

"  *  I  want  you.  I  dare  not  trust  you  out  of  my  sight.  I  know 
what  you  are, — you  are  plotting  mischief  against  me :  but  if  you 

betray  me  I  will  be  revenged,  if  I  have  to  follow  you  to for 

that  purpose.' 

-^  " '  Why  do  you  doubt  my  word,  Macdermot  ?    Do  yc  i  think  I 
want  to  hang  myself?' 

" '  No,  not  yourself,  but  me.  You  are  too  bad  tc  be  trusted. 
What  were  you  sayinp'  just  now  to  that  boy  V 

"  ^  I  told  him  that  the  captain  was  not  at  home,  and  I  dared 
not  lend  him  the  gun.' 
t^   " '  You  were  right.    The  gun  will  be  wanted  at  home.' 

"  She  shuddered  and  turned  away.  It  seems  that  she  had  had 
enough  of  blood,  and  showed  some  feeling  at  last.  I  kept  my 
eye  upon  her,  and  would  not  suffer  her  for  a  moment  out  of  my 
sight. 

"  At  noon  the  captain  drove  into  the  yard,  and  I  went  out 
to  take  the  horse.  Before  he  had  time  to  alight,  he  asked  for 
Hannah.  I  told  him  that  she  was  out, — that  she  went  off  the 
day  before,  and  had  not  returned,  but  that  we  expected  her  in 
every  minute. 

"  He  was  very  much  annoyed,  and  said  that  she  had  no  busi- 
ness to  leave  the  house  during  his  absence, — ^that  he  would  give 
her  a  good  rating  when  sue  came  home. 
*    "  Grace  asked  if  she  should  get  his  breakfast  ? 
«    "He  said,   'He  wanted  none.     He  would  wait- till  Hannah 
came  back,  and  then  he  would  take  a  cup  of  coffee.' .    ^: 


180 


LIFK    IN    THR    CLEARINGS. 


.V' 


"  He  then  went  into  the  parlour ;  and  throwing  himself  down 
upon  the  sofa,  coiuiuenoed  reading  a  magazine  he  had  brought 
with  him  from  Toronto. 

*'''  ^  I  thought  he  would  miss  the  young  ladv,'  said  Grace.  *  He 
has  no  idea  how  close  she  is  to  him  at  thic  moment.  '  I  wonder, 
why  I  could  not  make  him  as  good  a  cup  of  coffee  as  Hannah. 
I  have  often  made  it  for  him  when  he  did  not  know  it.  But 
wha*-.  is  dweet  from  her  hand,  would  be  poison  fiom  mine.  But 
]  have  had  my  revenge  1' 

"  Dinner  time  came,  and  or^t  came  the  captain  to  the  kitchen, 
book  in  hand. 

" 'Isn't  Hannah  back  yet?' 

"'No,  Sir.' 

" 'It's  strange.    Which  way  did  she  go?' 

"  '  She  did  not  tell  us  where  she  wcs  going ;  but  said  that,  as 
you  were  out,  it  would  be  a  good  oppor*'  unity  of  visiting  an  old 
friend.' 

"  '  When  did  she  say  she  would  be  back  V  /% 

" '  We  expected  her  last  night,'  said  Grace.  " 

" '  Something  must  have  happened  to  the  girl,  Hacdermot,' 
turning  to  me.  '  Put  the  saddle  on  my  riding  horse.  I  will  go 
among  the  neighbours,  and  inquire  if  they  have  seen  her.'       ^■** 

"  Grace  ezcharged  glances  with  me. 

"  'Will  you  not  stay  till  after  dinner.  Sir ?' 

" '  I  don*^t  care,'  he  cried  impatiently, '  a for  dinner.  I  feel 

too  uneasy  about  the  girl  to  eat.  Macdermot,  be  quick  and  sad- 
dle Charley ;  and  you,  Grace,  come  and  tell  me  when  he  is  at  the 
door.'  '     "  ..  ' 

"  He  went  back  into  the  parlour,  and  put  on^-liis  riding-coat ; 
and  I  went  into  the  harness  house,  not  to  obey  his  orders,  but  to 
plan  his  destruction. 

"  I  perceived  that  it  was  more  di£5cult  to  conceal  a  mm*der 
than  I  had  imagined ;  that  the  inquiries  he  was  about  to  make 
would  arouse  suspicion  among  the  neighbours,  and  finally  lead  to 
a  discovery.  The  only  way  to  prevent  this  was  to  murder  him, 
take  what  money  he  had  brought  with  him  from  Toronto,  and  be 
off  with  Grace  to  the  States.  Whatever  repugnance  I  might 
have  felt  at  the  commission  of  this  fresh  crim^,  was  drowned  in 


UFS  IN  THK  CLBARIN08. 


161 


the  selfish  necessity  of  self-preservation.    My  plans  were  soon 
matured  ;  and  I  hastened  to  put  them  in  a  proper  train. 

"  I  first  loaded  the  old  duck  gun  with  ball,  and  putting  it  be- 
hind the  door  of  the  hamoss-house,  I  went  into  the  parlour.  I 
found  the  captain  lying  on  the  sofa  reading,  his  hat  and  gloves 
beside  him  on  the  table.    He  started  up  as  I  entered. 

" '  Is  the  horse  ready  ?V 

" '  Not  yet,  Sur.  Some  person  has  been  in  during  the  night, 
and  cut  your  new  English  saddle  almost  to  pieces.  I  wish  you 
would  step  out  and  look  at  it.  I  cannot  put  it  6n  Gharley  in  its 
present  state.' 

" '  Don't  bother  me,'  he  cried  angrily ;'  it  is  in  your  charge, — 
you  are  answerable  for  that.  Who  the  devil  would  think  it  wortli 
their  while  to  break  into  the  harness-house  to  cut  a  saddle,  when 
they  could  have  carried  it  off  entirely  ?  Let  me  have  none  of 
your  tricks,  Sirl    Yon  must  have  done  it  yourself!' 

" '  That  is  not  very  likely.  Captain  Kinnaird.  At  any  rate,  it 
would  be  a  satisfaction  to  me  if  you  would  come  and  look  at  it.' 

" '  I'm  in  too  great  a  hurry.    Put  on  the  old  one.' 

"  I  still  held  the  door  in  my  hand.  '  It's  only  a  step  from  here 
to  the  harness-house.' 

"  He  rose  reluctantly,  and  followed  me  into  the  kitchen.  The 
harness-house  formed  part  of  a  lean-to  off  the  kitchen,  and  you 
went  down  two  steps  into  it.  He  went  on  before  me,  and  as  he 
descended  the  steps,  I  clutched  the  gun  I  had  left  behind  the  door, 
took  my  aim  between  his  shoulders,  and  shot  him  through  the 
heart.  He  staggered  forward  and  fell,  exclaiming  as  he  did  so, 
'O  God,  I  am  shot  I' 

"  In  a  few  minutes  he  was  lying  in  the  cellar,  beside  our  other 
victim.  Very  little  blood  flowed  from  the  wound ;  he  bled  in- 
ternally. He  had  on  a  very  fine  shirt ;  and  after  rifling  his  per- 
son, and  possessing  myself  of  his  pockot-book  I  took  of  his  shirt,^ 
and  put  on  the  one  I  had  bought  of  the  pedlar." 

"  Then,"  cried  Mr.  Mac — ie,  to  whom  this  confession  was  made, 
"  that  was  how  the  pedlar  was  supposed  to  have  a  hand  in  the 
murder.  That  circumstance  confused  the  evidence,  and  nearly 
saved  your  life." 

"  It  was  just  as  I  have  told  you,"  said  Macdermot. 


'}+«*flp5 


182 


UFS  IN  THB  OLBARI50S. 


I 


"  And  tell  me,  lifacdermot,  the  reason  of  another  oironmstanoe 
that  puzzled  the  whole  court.  How  came  that  magazine,  which 
was  found  in  the  housekeeper's  hed  saturated  with  hlood,  in  that 
place,  and  so  far  from  the  spot  where  the  murder  was  com- 
mitted?" r. 

"That,  too,  is  easily  explained,  though  it  was  such  a  riddle  to 
you  gentlemen  of  the  law.  When  the  captain  came  out  to  look 
at  the  saddle,  he  had  the  hook  open  in  his  hand.  When  he  was 
shot,  he  clapped  the  book  to  his  breast  with  both  his  hands. 
Almost  all  the  blood  that  flowed  from  it  was  caught  in  that  book. 
It  required  some  force  on  my  part  to  take  it  from  his  grasp  after 
he  was  dead.  Kot  knowing  what  to  do  with  it,  I  flung  it  into  the 
housekeeper's  bed.  While  I  harnessed  the  riding-horse  into  his 
new  buggy,  Grace  collected  all  the  valuables  in  the  house.  You 
know.  Sir,  that  we  got  safe  on  board  the  steamer  at  Toronto;  but, 
owing  to  an  unfortunate  delay,  we  were  apprehended,  sent  to  jail, 
and  condemned  to  die. 

: '  ♦'.Grace,  you  tell  me,  has  been  reprieved,  and  her  sentence 
commuted  into  confinement  in  the  Penitentiary  for  lifSe.  This 
seems  very  unjust  to  me,  for  she  is  certainly  more  criminal  than 
I  am.  If  she  had  not  instigated  me  to  commit  the  murder,  it 
never  would  have  been  done.  Bat  the  priest  tells  me  that  I  sh^il 
not  be  hung,  and  not  to  make  myself  uneasy  on  that  score." 
^  "  Macdermot,"  said  Mr.  Mac — ^ie,  "  it  is  useless  to  flatter  you 
with  false  hopes.  You  will  su£fer  the  execution  of  your  sentence 
to-morrow,  at  eight  o'clock,  in  front  of  the  jail.  I  have  seen  the 
order  sent  by  the  gcernor  to  the  sheriflf,  and  that  was  my  reason 
for  visiting  you  to-night.  I  was  not  satisfied  in  my  own  mind 
of  your  guilt.  What  you  have  told  me  has  greatly  relieved  my 
mind ;  and  I  must  add,  if  ever  man  deserved  his  sentence,  you 
do  yours." 

^M  "  When  this  unhappy  man  was  reaUy  convinced  that  I  was  in 
earnest — that  he  must  pay  with  his  life  the  penalty  of  his  crime," 
continued  Mr.  Mac — ^ie,  "  his  abject  cowardice  and  the  mental 
agonies  he  endured  were  too  terrible  to  witness.  He  dashed 
himself  on  the  floor  of  his  cell,  and  shrieked  and  raved  like  a 
maniac,  deciaring  that  he  could  not,  and  would  not  die ;  that  the 
law  had  no  right  to  murder  a  man's  soul  as  well  as  his  body,  by 


LIFB  IN  THB  OLBARINOS. 


18S 


giving  him  no  time  for  repentanoe ;  that  if  he  was  hung  like  a 
dog,  Grace  Marks,  in  j  notice,  .onght  to  share  liis  fate.  Finding 
that  all  I  conld  say  to  him  had  no  effect  in  producing  a  better 
frame  of  mind,  I  called  in  the  chaplain,  and  left  the  sinner  to  his 
fate. 

"  A  few  months  ago  I  visited  the  Penitentiary ;  and  as  my    . 
pleading  had  been  the  means  of  saving  Grace  from  the  same 
doom,  I  naturally  felt  interested  in  her  present  state.    I  was  per- 
mitted to  see  and  speak  to  her  and  Mrs.  M .    I  never  shall 

forget  the  painful  feelings  I  experienced  during  this  interview. 
She  had  been  five  years  in  the  Penitentiary,  bnt  still  retained  a 
remarkably  yonthfol  appearance.  The  sullen  assurance  that  had 
foi^merly  marked  her  conntenance,  had  given  place  to  a  sad  and 
humbled  expression.  She  bad  lost  much  of  her  former  good 
looks,  and  seldom  raised  h»  ^es  from  the  ground. 

" '  Well,  Grace,'  I  said,  *  how  is  it  with  you  now  8' 

"  *  Bad  enough  Sir,'  she  answered,  with  a  sigh ;  *  I  ought  to 
feel  grateful  to  yon  for  all  the  trouble  you  took  on  my  account. 
I  thought  you  my  Mend  thw,  but  you  were  the  worst  enemy  I 
ever  had  in  my  life.'. 

"*Howi8that,cfr8ceJ' 

" '  Oh,  SiTy  it  would  have  been  better  for  me  to  have  died  with 
Macdermot  than  to  have  sufiered  for  years,  as  I  have  done,  the 
torments  of  the  damned.  Oh,  Sir,  my  misery  is  too  great  for 
words  to  desc'-ibe  1  I  would  gladly  snbmit  to  the  most  painful 
death,  if  I  thc^-  ;ht  that  it  would  put  an  end  to  the  pangs  I  daily 
endure.  But  thv/Ogh  J  have  repented  of  my  wickedness  with 
bitter  tears,  ii,  has  pleased  God  that  I  should  never  again  know  a 
moment's  peace.  Since  I  helped  Macdermot^o  strangle  Hannah 
Montgomery,  her  terrible  face  and  those  horrible  bloodshot  eyes 
have  never  left  me  for  a  moment.  They  glare  upon  me  by  night 
and  day,  and  when  I  close  my  eyes  in  despmr,  I  see  them  looking 
into  my  sold — it  is  impossible  to  shut  them  out.  If  I  am  at  work, 
in  a  few  minutes  that  dreadful  head  is  in  my  lap.  If  I  look  up 
^  to  get  rid  of  it,  I  see  it  in  the  far  corner  of  the  room.  At  dinner, 
it  is  in  my  plat*, ,  or  grinning  between  the  persons  who  sit  oppo- 
ate  to  rae  at  table  Every  object  that  meets  my  sight  takes  the 
game  dreadful  form ;  and  at  night — at  night — ^in  the  silence  and 


181 


UFI  IN  THB  0LBARINO8. 


\ 


: 


I 


;• 


loneliness  of  my  cell,  those  blazing  oyes  make  my  |»ison  as  V^^\^t 
(M  *Uy.  No,  not  as  day — ^they  have  a  terribly  liot  glare,  tlial  lias 
not  the  appearance  of  anything  in  this  world.  And  when  I 
sleep,  that  face  jost  hovers  abo  >  :  y  own,  its  eyes  just  opposite 
to  mine ;  so  that  when  I  awake  with  a  shriek  of  agony,  I  find 
them  there.  Oh !  this  is  hell,  Sir— these  are  the  torments  of  the 
damned  1  Were  I  in  that  fiery  place,  my  punishment  could  not 
be  greater  than  this.' 

"  The  poor  creature  turned  away,  and  I  left  her,  fbr  who  could 
say  a  word  of  comfort  to  such  grief  t  it  was  a  matter  solely 
between  her  own  conscience  and  God." 

Having  heard  this  terrible  narrative,  I  was  very  anxious  to 
behold  this  ui^nappy  victim  of  remorse.  She  passed  me  on  the 
stairs  as  I  proceeded  to  the  part  of  the  building  where  the  women 
were  kept;  but  on  perceiving  a  stranger,  she  turned  her  head 
away,  so  that  I  could  not  get  a  glimpse  of  her  fiioe. 

Having  made  known  my  wishes  to  the  matron,  she  very  kindly 
called  her  in  to  perform  some  trifling  duty  in  the  ward,  so  that  I 
might  have  an  opportunity  of  seeing  her.  She  is  a  middle-sized 
woman,  with  a  slight  graceful  figure.  There  is  an  air  of  hopeless 
melancholy  in  her  face  which  is  very  painftil  to  contemplate.  Her 
complexion  is  fair,  and  must,  before  tlie  tonch  of  hopeless  sorrow 
paled  it,  have  been  very  brilliant.  Her  eyes  are  a  bright  blue, 
her  hair  auburn,  and  her  face  would  be  rather  handsome  were  it 
not  for  the  long  curved  chin,  which  gives,  as  it  always  does  to 
most  persons  who  have  this  &oial  defect,  a  cunning  cruel  expres- 
sion. 

Grace  Marks  glances  at  you  with  a  sidelong,  stealthy  look ;  her 
eye  never  meets  ;^urs,  and  after  a  fhrtive  regard,  it  invariably 
bends  its  gaze  upon  the  ground.  She  looks  like  a  person  rather 
above  her  hnmble  station,  ani  her  conduct  during  her  stay  in  the 
Penitentiary  was  so  unexceptionable,  that  a  petition  was  signed 
by  aHi  the  influential  gentlemen  in  Kingston,  which  released  her 
from  her  long  imprisonment.  She  entered  the  service  of  the 
governor  of  the  Penitentiary,  but  the  fearful  hauntinga  of  her 
brain  have  terminated  in  madness.  She  is  now  in  the  asylum  at 
Toronto ;  and  as  I  mean  to  visit  it  when  theve,.I  may  chance  to 
see  this  remarkable  criminal  again.    Let  us  hope  that  all  her 

■    •    ■      '        ■*,,.-'.  ..r"    .-.       1  . ,  ■■   V       ,,  ■       ,  '  -    .  \.      '    ,-t    : 


/_  . 


Liryf  IN   THK    CLKARIKOB. 


185 


preyioug  guilt  mny  be  attribnted  to  the  incipient  workings  of  this 
frightful  malAdy. 


TO  THE  WIND. 

*'  Stem  spirit  oi  air,  wild  voice  of  the  sky  I 

^by         *■■  rHiu     'le  heavens,  and  earth  trembles  with  dre* 
In  bo  .r^  mujrmum  the  billows  reply, 

A    '  o  ..^us    \  in  his  cavernous  bed. 


i  ) 


•««•- 


.fti 


"  On  tli^  *luug  pinions  destruction  rides  free, 

Unfett(  .^ay  sweep  the  wide  deserts  of  air; 

"    The  hurricane  Ixirsts  over  mountain  and  sea, 

And  havoc  and  death  mark  thy  track  with  despair. 

"  When  the  thunder  lies  cradled  within  its  dark  cloud, 
And  earth  and  her  tribes  crouch  in  silence  and  dread, 
Thy  voice  shakes  the  forest,  the  tall  oak  is  bowed, 
That  for  ages  had  shook  at  the  tempest  its  head. 


"  When  the  Lord  bowed  the  heavens,  and  came  down  in  his  might, 
Sublimely  around  were  the  elements  cast ;  ^       •  i^ 

At  his  feet  lay  the  dense  rolling  shadows  of  night, 
But  the  power  of  Omnipotence  rode  on  the  blast. 

"  From  the  whirlwind  he  spake,  when  man  wrung  with  pain,  ,^. 

In  the  strength  of  his  anguish  dare  challenge  his  God;  / 

.>.L,      'Mid  its  thunders  he  told  him  his  reasoning  was  vain,  .^^ 
La.         Till  he  bowed  to  correction,  and  kiss'd  the  just  rod. 


"  When  called  by  the  voice  of  the  prophet  of  old. 

In  the  '  valley  of  bones,'  to  breathe  over  the  dead ; 
Like  the  sands  of  the  sea,  could  their  number  be  told. 
They  started  to  life  when  the  mandate  had  sped 

j;^'*'-  «« Those  chill  mouldering  ashes  thy  summons  could  bind. 

And  the  dark  icy  slumbers  of  ages  gave  way ; 
"f^      The  spirit  of  life  took  the  wings  of  the  wind,  -  --     v 
-~ "  .    . .    Rekindling  the  souls  of  the  children  of  clay. 


^RiW^- 


*V^  '    ^^ 


/y 


^> 


>    > 


/^ 


/>^^/ 


d^. 


/A 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


1.0 


I.I 


2.0 


L25  il.4 


III 


1.6 


Photographic 

Sciences 

Corporation 


23  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER, NY    MS80 

(716)  S72-4503 


Zi 


C^ 


M 


% 


Thftt  sliakM  the  finn  hills  to  their  centre  with  itmit 
And  bare  bought  in  that  c<»iflict>H)arth's  Maddest  and  Ias#-~ 
,Th*t  thy  deep  chilling  sigh  will  awaken  the  dead  I" 


qHAPXKB  XI. 

••  ns  diqr  er  Ittiis  elesli^-the  loii«  night 
or  drMuless  r«tl  a  dwdqr  ahiAvw  throws, 
BetiTMBtlis  dying  and  thelhings  of  earth, 
IMoidiBt  ^  a  ehitt  oMtrlMMl  p*II 
Afi  last  sad  itVigiNi  br  a  broken  J 
Tes  I SM  iImjM^  0$  lij^aierreVs  san* 
The  bitter  grief  iMU  hroni^t  him  to  this  pass 
Hf  HI  be  forgotten  in  the  sleep  of  desth.** 


anessi. 


Wx  left  £LB^t<»L  ^  three^  o'dook,  p.]f.,  in  tbe  *^  Passport,"  for. 
Toronto.  Ffipm  her  eommandor,  CaptAin  Towhy^  a  fine  Irtish 
heart  of  oak,  we  received  the  kindest  attention;  his  intelligent 
oonversaitioB,  and  mtee^sting  desoripiions  of  the  many  lands  he 
had  visited  daring  a  I(»g  eoqnaintaaoe  with  the  sea,  greatly 
lightening  the  tedium  of  tiiie  ¥<^iige. 

When,  onoe  foirly  afloat  <m  board  the  bine  inland  sea  of 
Ontario,  you  soon  lose  sig^t  of  the  shores,  and  oonld  imagine  your- 
self sailing  on  a  calm  day  on  the  wide  ocean.  There  is  some- 
thing, however,  wanting  to  oon^lete  the  deception— the  invigo- 
rating, freshness — the  peculiar  smell  of  the  salt  water,  that  is  so 
exhilarating,  and  which  produces  a  sensation  of  freedom  and 
power  that  is  never  experienced  on  these  fresh-water  lakes. 
They  want  the  depth,  the  ftilness,  the  grandeur  of  the  ocean, 
though  the  wide  expanse  of  water  an4  sky  fure,  in  all  other  re- 
spects, the'sfme. 

The  boat  seldom  touches  at  any  place  before  she  reaches 
Oobourg,  which  is  generally  at  night.  We  stopped  a  short  time 
at  the  wharf  to  put  passenger^  and  freight  on  shore,  and  to 
receive  fresh  passengers  and  frdght  in  return.  The  sight  of  this 
town,  which  I  ha4  not  seen  for  many  years,  recalled  forcibly  to 


aitm 


■mim'm  mm'%i»jaa»G§. 


m 


my  mfaid  «  meltndlioly  Meifriti  HiAoh  IditmstAJU)  1>»  sn  Midr. 
I  wifi  relttle  f t  hmv».  * 

Wbte  we  Arst  afirlyed  bi  OanaAa,  in  188f,  trd  tmtStiiei  Knr 
three  weeks  ftt  an  hotel  in  this  town,  fhoi^,  at  that  period,  it 
was  a  place  of  much  less  importance  than  it  is  at  present,  de- 
sorvi)^  little  more  than  Uie  name  erf  a  pretty  rising  village, 
pleasantly  situated  on  the  shores  of  Lake  (hitiyrio),  the  rapid 
imprpyement  of  the  ooontiy  him  conTerted  Oohom^  into  a 
thriying,  popidoas  town,  and  it  ha»  trebled  its  pc^nilsiion  daring 
the  lapse  of  twen^  fvam.  A  neddenoe  kk  «  hcrase  of  pnblio 
entertaimnwit,  to  Utode  who  htfre  h«^  ideTHtomed  to  the  qniet 
and  retir«ment  df  » .eoofiiry  life,  is  dtimy»  impleMant,  and  to 
strangers  as  we  wope,  in  »  foreign  tamd,  it  was  donhly  repugnant 
to  onr  feelings.  jAWj^et  fldl  my  wise  i*esoltiU<»i»  not  to  giyo 
way  to  dee^ndoioy,  hnt  to  hiattle  bravely  against  the  change  in 
my  cirenm8tance$,  I  found  myself  daily  yielding  np  my  whole 
heart  and  sonl  to  that  worst  of  all  mala^^,  home  sickness. 

It  was  dnring  these  honrs  of  loneHnesfi  and  d«^e(HJon,  wbSo 
my  htisband  was  absent  esAmining  ftoras  in  the  neighbonrhood, 
that  I  had'  the  good  ibctime  to  foitn  on  acqnaintanoe  with  Mrs. 
O — ^,  a  Oaoaadfaai  lady,  who  b€«rded  Wtth  her  husband  in  the 
same  hotel.  My  new  friend  was  a  yotmg  womin  agreeable  in 
person,  and  perfectly  nnafElEieted  In  her  inanners,  whi(^  were 
remai^kably  fhmk  and  kind.  Hers  Was  the  first  friendly  fiico  I 
had  seen  in  the  colony,  and  it  will  ever  be  remembered  by  mo 
with  affection  and  respect. 

One  afternoon  while  alone  fn  ttiy  chaniber,  getting  niy  baby,  a 
little  g^ri  of  flijc  months  (M^  to  sleep,  and  thinking  n^  any  :md 
thoughts,  and  sheddiDg  some  bittor  teu>8  for  the  1(mss  of  the  dear 
country  and  Mends  I  had  left  for  ever,  a  sBgfat  tap  at  the  door 
roused  me  from  my  pirfnfbl  reveries,  and  Mrs.  0——  entered  the 
room.  like  most  of  the  Canadian  women,  my  friend  w&s  small 
of  stature,  slight  and  delicately  formed,  and  dressed  with  the 
smartness  and  neatness  so  characteristic  of  the  females  of  this 
continent,  -who,  if  they  lack  some  of  the  accomplishments  of 
English  women,  for  surpass  them  in  their  tasto  in  dress,  their 
choice  of  colours,  and  the  graceful  and  becoming  manner  in 
which  they  wear  their  clothes.    If  my  young  friend  had  a  weak- 


»86 


ijni  IN  m  eiAAKomn* 


f 


nitM,  ifc  was  0|i  t.bi»  pdnt  $^  hmi  as  h«r  JmslMnid  was  eogai^  In  a 
luaratiTe  meroantile  basinesar  and  they  had  no  ihrailyf  it  was 
certainly  •xooaabie.  At  this  foment  hco'  pretty  neat  little 
figure  was  a  weleome  and  interesting  objjeet  to  t^  h<Htte-dck 
emigrants 

"  WhatI  Jdwi^s  in  teaiv,*'  said  ^  oarefolly  dosing  the  door. 
**WJiat  pleaiiniia  it  wonid  give  me  to  see  yottioote  olieetMI 
This  ooastMit  r«|>iiung  wiU  never  do.**  ^h. 

^*  The  slghtt  of  yon  has  madiB  mo  feel  better  taready,"  said  I, 
-wigmgVkY  t^^  and  trying^  to  &roe  a  smile.  **M— — ^  is  away 
on  a  furmrhnoting  Mcpe^MoOj  vad  I  hare  been  id<Mie  all  day. 
Oan  youwQBd0||th«Q«tdhalIaimsodept«ssedf  Kraaofyisiny 
worst  oiMmpanioiii  Jinrby  etwwtantly  reorittftg  seenes  ef  past  hap- 
pjneas,  she  iwadfifs  mo  disooDtOBted  with  the -present,  imdlM^pe- 
less  of  the  fiitiire,  and  it  will  reqii^e  all  yonr  kind  qnnpathy  to 
reooncUometoOviada.^'  .  .^  , . 

"Yon  will  like  it  better  by  and  1^}  a  newooniatiy  always  im« 
proves  upon  aeqqaintaneew^' 

"  Ahf  noii^I  Did  I  only  oonmdt  my  own  fteHags,  I  wonM  be 
off  \)f  tlie  noU  steaa-boat  for  Sni^land ;  bnt  tSten-A^my  linsband, 
my  ohild,  ijynr  scanty  means.  Tesl  yes  I  I  must  snbmit,  bnt  I 
find  it  a  hard  task." 

"We  have  all  our  trials,  lira.  M*-**<-;  and,  to  tell  y^  ^be 
truth,  I  do  not  feel  in  the  best  i^irita  myself  this  aft^it  I 

came  to  adc  yon  what!  am  certain  you  will  donsidM'  a  strange 
question." 

This  was  said  in^  a  tone  so  nnusuaUy  sorions,  tiiat  I  looked  up 
from  the  cracQe  in  rarprise,  which  her  sc^emi*  aspect,  and  pale^ 
tearftil  face,  did  not  tend  to  diminish.  BeSbnd  I  could  ask  the 
canseof  her  dejection,  she  added  qniekly — 

*^  Bare  you.  read  a  duster  from  the  Bible  to  a  c^^g  msn^* 

"Dare  I?    Tes,  certainly  I    Who  Is  ill?    Who  is  dying  t" 

#It's  a  sad  stoiy,"  she  continued^  wij^ng  the  tears  from  her 
kind  eyes.  "  I  will  tell  you,  however,  what  I  blow  of  it,  just  to' 
satisfy  you  as  to  the  prc^riety  of  my  request.  There  m  a  poor 
young  man  in  this  house  who  is  very  sick— dyiag,  I  believe,  ofv 
con8uix^>tion.  He  came  here  about  t^ree  wedcs  ago,  without 
food,  without  money,  and  in  a  dreadfully  emaciated  state.    Ho 


un  nr  ma  oiKiiuiroK 


t8# 


took  oqr  good  landlord,  Mr.  S^— -^,  ott  oiili  «tdo,  ted  told  hfni 
how  he  was  aitaatedf  and  be^^sed  that  h«  would  ^e  him  some- 
thing  to  eat  andoii  i^ghtV  lodging,  prondaing  that  if  ever  he  %as 
rertorod  to  health,  ha  wotdd  rapay  l3ie  ^bt  in  woilc.  Ton  know 
-what  a  kind,  hnmane  man  Mr.  8  is,  althongh,"  she  added, 
with  a  dy  snrile,  **hei$a  7<miM^  and  ao  abt  a  I  by  itght  o/ 
parentage,  thoogb  not  of  bhrtli.  Mr.  S''-'-  •  eiiT at  glanoe  that 
the  BQppltant  waa  an  object  ctf  md  dlarity,  and  iitftanHy  com* 
plied  with  his  reqmeet  Wttbottt  aritii^  fkBrtheT  parttonlars,  ho 
gave  him  a  good  bed,  aent  him  up  a  bowl  ti  hot  e<mp,  and  bade 
him  not  distress  hmiscif  about  tiw  fBttne,  but  tiy  and  get  a  good 
night*s  rest  The  hext  dqr,  liie  yooBg  laaa  Waa  too  in  t«  feare 
his  ohttntier.  Mr.  8^  >  aent  for  old  Dr.  MorfeoB,  who,  after 
exanunii^  the  lad,  informed  Us^midoyer  that  he  -wai  in  the  last 
sti^  of  oonsmnption,  and  had  ncit  many  daya  to  lire,  and  it 

would  be  adTisable  for  Mr.  8 toluiTahiniteiaoTed  to  the 

hospital^a  pitifid  shed  ereeted  for  emigrants  who  ntty  diance 
to  arrive  iU  with  the  cholera).  Mr.  B-^-"^  net  only  reftised  to 
send  file  young  num  away,  but  haa  mraad  him  with  the  greatest 
care^  his  wife  and  dangfatera  tating  it  by  turns  to  tf  t  up  nightly 
wIUi  the  i^oor  patient.** 

My  friend  said  noting  about  her  own  attendanoe  on  the 
invalid,  whldi,  I  afterwards  leanMd  Hmm  }lbn>  8  »had  been 
nnreiniUtog. 

**  And  what  acoeuat  does  the  lad  give  of  himself  9**  said  I. 

'*  All  that  we  know  about  him  is,  that  his  name  is  MaeixntSie.'' 
and  l^t  he  is  nephew  to  Mr.  C"*-— ,  ef  Pet«rboro*,  ah  Irishman 
by  l^rthv  and  a  Cathdto  by  reiijg^.  Swote  violent^^akereation . 
took  place  batweoat  him  and  Ua  undaa  sh<»t tiaa*  age,  which 
induced  MiduMl  to  leave  Ida  houae^  and  lo<^4>ut  for  a  ntuation 
for  himself.  Hearhag  tint  his  parents  had  arrived  in  thw  coun- 
try, and  wete  on  ^eir  way  to  Peterboro*,  he  came  down  aa  for 
as  Oobourg  in  the  hope^  of  meeting  than,  when  Ins  stiqw  were 
arrested  by  poverty  and  rickness  on  this  threshold. 

**By  a  lingular  otAaddeno^  his  mother  came  to  tiM  hotel 
yesterday  evening  to  inquire  the  way  to  Feterboro',  and  Mr« 

•  *ltiohMl  IfadMdft  WIM  dot  tti«  nftl  name  of  fhto  poor  yooor  nan,  bat  li  one 
•nbitttatod  br  Ibo  Mthor. 


.■^^t:mi,imiifr.^ 


'^4!C7rv^rs!^''''^5^W^5s^Tff''«^ 


*■ .  T 


"-"  T,"j3^?^W9^"p^*V^^'''   ■  ■ » 


m 


m9  ur  t^J^  ouBABiyos. 


S— ««-  found  onti  &om  hw  oonvenHitioD,  jUtiM^  aIm  wm  the  mother 
of  the  poor  lad,  and  he  instantly  oonckioted  her  to  the  hed-side 
of  hereon.  I  wae  eitting  ^th  hid^  ?>en  the  interview  between 
him  and  hia  mother  te<^  slaeOi  ajnd  I  assore  yon  that  it  was 
almost  too  mnoh  for  my  nervea — his  Joy  and  patitttde  were  so 
freat  at  onee  more  beholding  hia.  parent,  wh^  the^g^  and 
distraotion  oC  ^e  poorirom«n,  on  seeing  him  isi,adyipgeti»te, 
was  agoniaiAg;  and  she  gave  jent  toher  fe^^ngs  in  nttering  the 
most  hearty  corses  against  the  conntryf  and  the  person^  who  b^ 
their  mikindness  had  besm  the  canae  of  his  sickness.  The  young 
man  seemed  shocked  at  the  nn&minine  eondnct  of  his  mother, 
and  fiegged  me  to  esconse  tbfamde  manner  in  which  she.enswered 
me;  ^for^'Says  he^  *si^  is  igaoKant  and  beside  herself  and  does 
not  know  what  she  is  ssying  «r  doing.'    ;, 

"  Instead  of  expresui^;  the  least  gratitude  to  l£r.  S for  the 

attention  bestowed. on  her  son,  by  some,  strange  pervenion  of 
intellect  she  se«us  to  regard  him  and  us  as^his  especial  enemies. 
Last  nif^t  she  ordered  us  from  his  room,  and  declared  tiiat  her 
'  IHrec»ons  i^  was  not  going  to  die  l^e  a  ifiiJi^  snironnded  by 
a  pared  olheretik»;'  andshe(i»i^Qff  «  npi  on  horseback  for 
the  priest  and  for  his  unele — ^the  very  man  from  whose  house  ho 
fled,  and  whom  she  accuses  of  Imog  the  cause  of  her  sonV  death. 
Midiael  antidpatee  the  anival.  of  Kr.  0  "  •  wi^  fedings 
bordering  on  de^air,  and  prays  that  God  may  end  his  sufTerings 
before  he  reaches  OobcMoxg,  ^  .  c  , 

**Lart  night  Hrs.:Haobr5de  sat  up  w^  lllohael  herself,  and 
would  not  dlow  us  to  do  the  least  thing  for  him*  Tins  morning 
her  fieroe  temper  semns  to  have  subsided,  wtUher  flon.awoke 
firom  a  bro^n  and  foverieh  sleep,  and  «toclared  that  he  would 
not  die  a  Roman  OafthoHc,  and  :ea«Qea!tly  requested  JCr^B-^-r—  to 
send  fw  tL  Proteitaat  elerigrmaB.  This  gave  rii?  to  a  violet 
scoie  betwem  Mrs.  Maebrkle  and  her  s(m,  whi^  ended  io^^« 
S — -aftadingfor  1fe.B'--<><^,  the  clergyman  of  oQr  Tillage  who, 
unfortunately,  had  left  this  m(»ning  for  Toronto,  and  |s  not  ex- 
peoted  home  for  several  days.  Hichiel  eagerly  at4ced  if  there 
was  any  person  present  who  would  read  to  him  tnm  the  Bro- 
tesiant  Bible.,  This  excited  in  the  mother  such  a  fit  of  jtaamouj 
that  none  of  us  dared  attempt  the  task.    I  then  thought  of  yon, 


IlFl  nr  THS  CUAHIIIM* 


1*1 


that,  B8  a  ptrfdot  ttrangMv  ^^  nigbt  receive  yoa  in  a  1m»  hostile 
manner.  If  70a  are  not  afhM  to  enoonntor  the  fieree  old  woman, 
do  make  the  attend  for  the  take  of  the  dying  creature,  who 
laognisheB  to  hear  the  words  of  life.  I  wifi  watdh  the  baby 
while  yon  are  jKOae;" 

**  She  is  asleep,  and  needs  no  watching.  I  will  g«,  as  yoa  seem 
80  anxions  abont  it,'*  and^  I  toolc  my  podcet  BiUe  from  the  table. 
'^Bat  yon  must  go  "wi^  me,  for  I  do  not  know  my  way  in  this 
strange  hoose.*' 

Oareftilly  dosing  door  npon  the  sleeping  child,  I  ioUowed  the 
light  stepli  of  Mrs. "O-* — >  ak>Bg  the  passage,  nntil  we  reached  the 
Iiead  of  tlie  main  stailroftse,  Htn&a^  tmming  to  the  rigl^  w^mt&ped^ 
the  laige  pnbUo  ba&<4'ooitt.  Li  tihe  first  diamber  of  uumy  tliat 
opened  into  this  spaoioiis  apartaeoe^  we  fennd  tl>e  object  that  we 
son^^ 

Stretched  upon  a  low  bed,  wiUi  a  feather  fan  te  his  hand,  to 
ke^  off  tbe  fliea  tint  hovered  in  t<$rmentiag  dusters  round  his 
head,  lay  the  dying  Michael  Macbride. 

The  Ihee  of  tiie  ytmng  man  was  Wasted  by  disease  and  mental 
anxiety ;  and  if  t]»  features  were  not  podUvdy  handsome,  ^ey 
were  well  and  harmonionsly  defined,  and  a  look  of  intelligence 
and  sensibittty  pervaded  his  eotmtenanoe,whkh. greatly  k»ter- 
esttfd  me  in  Mi  behalf.  Sis  f&ce  was  deatMy  pate,  as  pi^  as 
marble,  and  bis  lai^snnken  eyes  sh<Hie  vi&nRnatoral  bryUanoy^ 
their  long  dark  lashes  adding  an  ezi»'6ssion  of  kltense  melan- 
choly to  the  patient  endaraaoe  of  suffering  that  marked  his  fine 
countenance.  His  nose  was  shrunk  and  drawn  in  abont  the 
nostras,  his  feverish  lips  apart,  inorder'to^  achnitaliree  passage 
for  the  labouring  breath,  their  bright  red  glow  affording  a  pain* 
fd  contrast  to  ^  ghastly  gutter  of  the  bariHiant  wliite  teeth 
within.  The  tMok  black  cnrlstiiatdustesed  t*oufid  hiehi^  fiNre- 
head  W«ipein[offift  with  persf^ratildn,  and  the  sam»  cold  unwhole- 
some de%  trickled  in  large  drops  down  his  hollow  teu^Ies.  It 
was  impossible  to  mistake  these  signs  of  approaching  di8solata<Hfc 
—ft  ^was  evident  to  all  present  that  deaUi  was  not  far  dfetanl. 

An  11^descHbal»le  awe  i»rept  over  me.  He  k>oked  so  Ixanqnilj^ 
sosifllAimed  b^  stiffi^ng^  that  I  fdt  myself  unworthy  to  be  Ida 
teadier.        -^?^s^-:^ 


m 


■A  I 


1#9 


un  n  THs  OLBARxires. 


I 

It 


':f 


^I'lV 


^  Mtdnel,'*  I  Mid,  takfaig  the  loiig  thHi  wl^  hMid  that  Isjr  ao 
llstleiily  on  the  oonrerUd,  **  I  am  sorry  to  eee  yoa  so  in." 

He  lodked  at  me  atteatiTcly  Ibr  a  f^  mimiteB.— **  Db  not  ray 
sorry,  Ma'am ;  rather  aay  glad.  I  am  |(lad  to  get  away  from  this 
bad  worId~-yoang  as  I  am — I  am  so  weary  of  it^** 

fit  sl^ed  deeply,  and  team  inied  his  eyee. 

**  T  heaird  thai  yooHMied  some  one  to  rsad  to  yea.^ 

"  Yea,  the  Bible  !*'  he  eried  trying  to  raiseliimseir  in  the  bed, 
while  bia  eager  eyes  were  turned  to  me  with  an  earnest)  implor- 
ing ezprssston. 

"  I  hare  it  here.    Are  yon  able  to  read  it  tor  yotirself  f* 

**  I  ean  read  bnt  my  eyea  are  so  dfan.    The  shadows  d  diMrth 
fldit  belweeft  me  and  Hie  world;  I  can  no  ^km^  see  objeots'^a- 
tinotly.    Bnt,  oh.  Madam,  if  my  ionl  wen  light,  I  sho^  noti 
head  tliis  blindness.     Bnt  all  is  dark  here,**  laying  his  haQd  on^ 
his  breast^*  dark  as  tlM  grave.** 

I  <^ned  die  saowd  book,  bnt  my  own  tears  for  a  moment  ob- 
sonred  the  page.  While  I  was  rerdving  in  my  own  mind  what 
wonld  be  the  best  to  read  to  1dm,  the  book  waa  radely  wrmcihed 
from  my  hand  by  a  tsUi  gannt  woman,  wkojastthen^Btered  the 
room. 

**  Ooh !  what  do  yon  mane  by  diditmrfoing  him  in  his  4ying  mo- 
ments Wid  yer  trash  ?  It  is  not  tiie  likes  o*  yon  that  isAiill  thron- 
ble  his  sowl  i  Th»  praste  will  eome  and  administiier  o<msolati<m 
to  him  in  his  last  exthremity.** 

.   Mi<Aiael  shook  his  head,  and  turned  his  ftoe  sorrowfully  to  the 
waO. 

*'  OHni  mother,**  lie  mnrmnred,  ^  is  that  the  way  yon  treat  the 
ladyt** 

**Lady  or  no  lady,  alid  I  mane  no  disrisj^ct;  it  is  not  fiv 
the^a  o*  h«r  to  tike  lius  on  hersel*.  If  she  will  be  lading,  let 
hei^  rade  this,**  and  she  tried  to  fbroe  a  book  of  deyotiooal  {way^ 
era  into  my  hand.  Ifiehad  r^Md  hims^,  and  with  ob  impi^ient 
geetnre  exclaimed —  %        ■ 

"JSTotthat^notthatl  It  speaks  no  oomf<^  tame.  Iwillnot 
Usten  to  it  Mother,  motherl  do  not  stand  between  me  and  my 
God.  I  know  that  yon  lore  me— l^vt  what  yon  do  is  done  for 
the  best ;  bnt  the  Toioe  of  oonsoienoe  will  be  heard  above  yonr 


" 


uva  nr  the  ouuBnrcw^ 


!•< 


Toioe.    I  hunger  and  Hiirsi  to  he«r  tlM  word  as  it  aUiilda  in  the 
Bible,  and  I  cannot  die  in  peaee  nnaslfofiedv  Ibr  the  lore  of 
Ohriat,  lla^am,  read  a  few  words  of  oomftwt  to  a  dying  sinner!" 

Here  the  mother  again  interposed. 

^  My  good  woman,**  I  said,  gently  putting  her  liaek,  *^7on  hear 
yonr  8on*s  earnest  request  If  yon  reidly  love  him,  yo«  will  oflbr 
no  opporiti<m  to  his  wishes.  It  is  not  a^nestton  of  ereeds  that 
is  here  to  be  determined,  as  to  whidi^  is  the  best—yimrB  or  mine. 
I  tmst  that  all  tiie  fkdthM  foUowws  d  CSirist,  however  loamed, 
hold  the  same  fiiith,  and  wffl  be  saved  by  the  same  means.  I 
shall  make  no  eomment  on  what  I  read  to  yonr  son.  The  Bible 
is  its  own  mt^itreter.  The  BfiMt  of  Ood^  by  whom  it  was  dic- 
tated, will  make  it  dear  to  his  comprehension.  Ifichae^  shell  I 
c<»nmenee  now  t" 

"  Yes,"  he  repHed,  «  with  the  blessfaig  of  God  l» 

After  patting  np  a  short  prayer  I  commeneed  rea^og,  aaA  con- 
tinued to  do  so  until  night,  taldng  care  to  sdect  those  portions 
of  Scripture  most  {q[>plicable  to  his  cose.  Never  did  hunutn  o-ea- 
tore  listen  with  more  earnestness  to  the  words  of  truth.  Ofken  he 
repeated  whole  texts  alter  me,  clasping  his  "hands  togethM*  in  a 
sort  of  ecstacy,  while  tewrs  streamed  from  his  eyes.  The  old 
woman  glared  upon  mo  from  a  hx  comer,  and  mutt«»d  over  her 
beads,  as  if  th^  were  a  aptSi  toseeure  her  ilgainst  some  diabdieal 
art.  When  I  could  no  longer  see  to  read,  Michael  took  my  hand, 
aqd  said  with  great  eamestnesEH- 

**May  God  bless  yon.  Madam!    You  have  made  me     .^v 
happy.    It  is  all  dear  to  me  now.    In  Ohrist  alone  J  shall  obta;  a 
mercy  and  forgiveness  for  my  sins.    It  is  his  righteousness,  and 
not  any  good  works  of  my  own,  that  will  save  me.    Dea&  no* 
longer  ai^pears  so  dreadful  to  me.    I  can  now  die  in^  peace. 

**  You  believe  that  God  will  pardtm  you,  Michael,  for  Ohrist^s 
sake;  but  have  yon  fbrg^ven  aU-your  enemies!" 

I  said  this  in  order  to  try  his  sincerity,  for  I  had  heard  that  he 
entertained  hard  thoughts  against  his  unde. 

He  covered  his  face  with  his  thin,  wasted  hands^  and  did  not 
answer  fttr  some  minutes ;  at  length  he  looked  up  with  a  cdm 
smile  upon  his  lips,  and  said— 

*'•  Yes,  I  have  forgiven  all— even  him  /— " 

9 


tir.r 


•N^p 


U^  tfi  XHB  CLVABIKOB. 


\ 


Oh^  how  miMh  wm  opnmiwd  in  tht  •&«$■■  litfd  so  stroiDglj  '»Dd 
nd^  <qN»  that  Utd«  word  ififii/  How  I  looked  to  hear  tiM 
story  of  wrongs  from  his  own  lip«t  bnl  he  wa#  too  weak  aB4^' 
hansted  for  me  to  urge  such  %  reqneft  Just  then  Dr.  Korton 
oamejb^  andalberstandb^^fweMueminQtesat  th«  hed-side,  re- 
garding hif  patMnt  with  ftied  attentJon,  hfli  Iplt  his  pulse,  sp9ke 
a  £»w  kM  woidsi  g»ve  some  trifliiaig  order  to  luis  nM^  and 
ICrs.  0«-— ^  and  ]«^the  room^  Stmok  hy  the  solemnil^  of  his 
maoner,  IfoOowe^  him  into  the  outer  iqpartmenL 

"Exoasetho  liberty  I  am  taking,  Dr.  Morton;  Bnt  I  feel  ^^e|>- 
ly  interested  in  yonr  patient.    Is  be  better  or  Wf^i" 

MHe  is  ciying.  I  did  not  wish  to  distorb  him  in  his  Jast 
QUMUinti.  I  ean  be  of  no  foifther  nse  to  him.  Poor  hd^  W$  m 
pity  I  he  is  reelly  a  ^  yomig  Mow." 

I  had  jadged  from  Miofaael'B  appearance  that  he  hadnot  long  to 
live,  bnt  I  fek  inexpressibly  shocked  to  find  his  end  ao  i^ear.  On 
retoming  to  the  dek  room,  Miohael  eagerly  asked  what  the 
doi^r  thought  of  him  ? 

I  did  not  answer^-^I  oonld  not, 

^  I  see,"  he  said,  *Hhat  I  most  die.  Iwillprepare^mysdf  for 
it  If  I  Uto  nntil  the  morning,  will  yoi\,  Madam,  oon^  an4  read 
tomoagaini" 

I  promised  him  that  I.  wouldr— or  during  the  night,  if  he  wisl;^- 
edit 

**I  feel  very  sleepy,"  he  said.  *^I  hftTO  not  slept  for  niany 
n^hts,  bnt  for  a  few  ninntes  at,  a  time.  !I!hank  God,  I  am 
entirely  free  from  pain :  it  is  very  good  of  Qim  to  grant  me  ibis 
respite."  ^ 

His  mother  find  I  adjusted  his  pillows,  and.in  a  few  seoonds  Jio 
was  slumbering  as  peaoefiilly  as  a  little  obild. 

The  feelings  of  the  poor  woman  seemed  softened  towards  mo, 
and  for  the  first  tim^sinoe.!  tmtered  tho  room  she  shed  tears. 
I  asked  the  age  of  her  son?  She  told  me  that  he  was  two^od^ 
twenty.  She  wrung  my  hand  hiard  as  I  left  the  room,  and 
thanked  me  f (NT.  my  ^dness  to  hw  poor  J^A0y« 

It  was  late  that  night  when  my  hoftbaod  returned  fix^m  the 
oonntry,  and  we  sat  for  several  hours  talking  oyer  our  affoirs, 
and  aisonssing  the  soil  and  eituatio]^  oC  tbe.Yarlous  £»nus  he  had 


i 


■."■^if^f^-^gsayr: 


▼Mtod  dnriog  the  d^r*  I*  was  ptii  tiMlvt  when  w*  iwttMd  to 
reit,  but  my  deep  wm  aoon  cUrtorbed  \)f  Mnae  <nm  tmighiiig 
>ioIeiitl7^  and  my  thoKghts  insUuiJIy  Mveited  to  ICiohael  Mao- 
bride,  as  the  hoarse  sepolchral  sounds  echoed  tbrongh  th*  large 
empty  room  beyond  whiob  ha  slept  Xhe^  eapgbiag  oontianeU 
,  for  some  mhmtes,  and  I  was  so  muoh  overcome  by  fiitigneand 
the  exdtoment  of  the  evening  that  I  &11  aaleep,  and  did  not 
awake  uitil  six  o'okMk  the  following  morning. 

Anxious  to  hear  how  the  poor  invalid  had  passed  the  ninety  I 
dressed  myself  and  hmried  to  bis.ehAmber. 

On  eutcoing  the  baU-room  I  found  the  doora^  and  windows  fdl 
open,  as  wdl  as  the  mm  that  led  to  the  eiek^s  man^s  ohamber. 
Hyibofcwas  arrestfd  en  the  threshold—for  death  was  there. 
Test  that  fit  of  oooghing  had  terminated  his  life—Miehael  had 
expired  witbont  a  stmg^e  in  the  arms  of  his  mother. 

The  gay  broad  beams  of  tha  son  ware  n^  admitted  into  that 
irilent  room.  The  window  iiraa  open,  bnt.the  green  blinds  were 
carefoUy  dosed,  admitting  a  free  circnlatian  of  air,  and  jost  light 
enough  to  render  the  objects  within  disUnotly  visible.  The  body 
was  kid  oat  xxpom  thabed  enveloped  in  a  white  sheet ;  the  head 
and  hands  akme  were  bare.  All  traoea  oi  sorrow  and  disease 
had  passed  away  ilrom  the  mi^|estio  £ice,  that,  interesting  in  life, 
now  looked  beantiM  and  holy  in  deatb-^and  ha^^^.  for  tlie 
seal  of  HeavMi  seemed  visibly  impressed  npon  the  pure  pale 
brow.  He  was  at  peaee,  and  thoo^  tears  of  hmnan  sympathy 
for  a  moment  dimiued  my  ngl;^  I  could  not  reg;:et  that  it  was 
sa. 

"  While  I  stood  still  in  the  door-way,  Mrs.  Macbride,  whom  | 
had  not  observed  until  th^  rose  from  h^  knees  beside  the  bed. 
She  seemed  hardly  in  her  right  mind,  and  began  talking  and 
muttering  to  herself. 

**  Ooh  htmo !  he  is  dead — my  fine  bhoy  is  dead — widoot  -  a 
prasto  to  pray  wid  him,  or  bless  him  in  the  last  hour-^wid  noiro 
of  Mb  firinds  and  relations  to  lament  iver  him,  or  wake  him,  but 
his  piHMr  heart-broken  mother— Och  hone  I  Ooh  hone  t  jthat  I 
should  ever  live  to  see  this  day.  Get  vp,  my  fine  bhoy<— get.  np 
wid  ye  I  Why  do  yoQ  lie  there  t — owlder  folknor  you  a;i^  abroad 
in  the  sonahine.    Qet  np,  a^  ahow  them  how  suppla  yon  ai»F 


.<*i«*i'!:»<'i  ^-mtmikkir 


""^■^tp^fnff^P'rjiiryf^  '■  ■•^%f^'f;ji  ■ '" 


IM 


un  nr  nu  ouARWWk 


T|k«i  lajiBg  her  ohttk  dowB  lo  the  cold  oheek  of  the  died, 
■he  eTffllaimed,  audd  broken  eohe  and  groen»— 

**0h,  ipiike  to  me  epake  to  me,  Mik^—my  oHm  )fike--*tis 
the  mother  that  aiee  ye." 

There  waa  «  deep  panae,  when  the  bereared  parent  again 
teoke  Ibfth— 

**  lllk%  Ifike-^irhy  did  your  nnde  rare  yon  like  a  Jintieman 
to  bring  yon  to  tfala.  Oeh  hcmel  odh  honel— Hdi,  never  did  I 
think  to  aee  yov  head  lie  ao  low.  My  bhoy !  my  bhojl— >why 
did  yon  (Uel-— Why  did  you  bye  yonr  frinds,  and  yoor  money, 
fnd  your  good  dothee,  and  your  poor  owld  mother  f* 

Oonvnlaiye  loba  again  choked  her  utterance.  Stus  flong  her- 
self upon  the  neck  of  the  oorpfte,  and  bathed  the  fhoe  and  hands 
of  himi  who  had  once  been  her  own,  with  bnitdng  tears. 

I  now  came  forward,  and  offered  a  ftw  worda  of  consolation. 
Vain — all  in  Tain.  Theearof  sorrow  is  deaf  to  all  save  its  own 
agonised  moans.  Qiief  is  as  natmral  to  the  hmnan  mind  as  joy, 
and  in  their  own  appointed  hoar  both  will  have  their  way. 

The  grief  oi  thia  nnhai^y  Irish  mother,  like  the  down-ponring 
of  a  thunder  showor,  could  not  be  restrahied.  But  her  tears 
aooa  flowed  in  less  violent  gushes— exhaustion  rendered  her  more 
oahn.  She  sat  upon  the  bed,  and  looked  cautiously  round — 
**  Hist  I— dSd  not  you  hear  a  voice  f  It  was  Mm  who  spake — yes 
— 4t  was  his  own  swate  Voice.  I  knew  he  was  not  dead.  See, 
he  moves  I"  This  was  the  fond  vain  delusicm  of  matOTual  love. 
She  took  his  odd  hand,  and  dasped  it  to  her  heart. 

"  Oeh  hone  I — he  is  gone,  and  left  me  for  ever  and  ever.  Oh, 
that  my  cruel  brother  was  here — that  I  might  point  to  my 
mnrthered  child,  and  curse  him  to  his  &ce !" 

"Is  Mr.  0 ^your  brother?"  said  I,  taking  this  opportunity 

to  divert  her  grief  into  another  channel. 

"  Tes — yes — ^he  is  my  brother,  bad  cess  to  himt  and  uncle  to 
the  bhoy.  Listen  to  me,  and  I  wiS  tell  you  some  of  my  mind. 
It  will  -ease  my  sorrow,  for  my  poor  heart  is  breaking  entirely, 
and  he  is  there,"  pointing  to  the  corpse,  "and  he  knows  that 
what  I  am  afther  telling  you  is  true. 

"I  came  of  poor  but  dacent  parints^  There  was  but  tiie  two 
of  us.  Fat  0 and  I.    My  fhther  rinted  a  good  &rm,  and  he 


vtn  IN  Tin  ouARnrs*. 


i\h 


rfnt  Hit  to  mhocAy  and  gtTtf  hhn  the  eddioatfon  of  a  |lntl«maii. 
Onr  liodlord  tool&A  liking  for  the  bhoy,  and  gave  him  the  manes 
k>  emigrate  to  Oanady.  This  vexed  my  IMher  intbely,  fbr  he 
had  no  one  barring  myself  to  help  him  cm  the  farm.  Wdl,  by 
and  by,  I  Jdned  myself  to  one  whom  my  ^Mlier  did  not^prove 
— a  bhoy  he  had  hired  to  work  wid  him  in  the  field8--an'  he 
wrote  to  my  brother  (for  my  mother  had  been  dead  erer  rinoe  I 
was  a  wee  thing)  to  az  him  in  what  maimer  he  had  best  ponish 
my  disobedienoe ;  and  he  Jist  adrlses  him  to  torn  Us  off  the 
plaoe.  I  suffered,  wid  my  husband,  tha  extremes  of  porerty : 
we  had  seven  ohllder,-  bnt  they  all  ^ed  of  the  fiiver  and  htfd 
times,  save  IQke  aad  the  two  weeny  ones.  In  tho  midst  of  onr 
disthress,  it  plssad  the  Lord  to  remove  my  Ihther,  widout  soft- 
enin*  his  heart  towards  me.  Bat  Jie  left  my  lOke  three  hnnder 
pounds,  to  be  his  whin  he  oame  to  a  right  age ;  and  he  appointed 
my  brother  Pat  gaardian  to  the  bhoy. 

**  My  brother  returned  to  Ireland  when  he  got  the  news  of  tiiy 
father's  death,  in  order  to  get  his  share  of  the  property,  for  iny 
father  left  him  tike  same  as  he  did  my  son.  He  took  away  my 
bhoy  wid  him  to  Oanady,  in  order  to  make  a  landed  Jintlemon 
of  him.  Ooh  hone  I  I  thought  my  heart  would  broken  thin, 
whin  he  took  away  my  swate  bhoy ;  but  I  waa  to  live  to  see  a 
darker  day  yet." 

Here  a  long  burst  of  pasdonate  weeping  interrupted  her 
story. 

"  Many  long  years  oame  an*  wint,  and  we  niver  got  the  sorapo 
of  a  pen  from  my  brother  to  tell  us  of  the  bhoy  at  all  at  all.  He 
might  jist  as  well  have  been  dead,  for  aught  we  knew  to  the  oon- 
thrary ;  but  we  oonsowled  oursilves  wid  the  thought,  that  he 
would  niver  go  about  to  harm  his  own  flesh  and  blood. 

"At  last  a  letther  came,  written  in  Mike's  own  hand;  and  a 
beautiful  hand  it  was  that  same, — ^the  good  God  bless  him  for  the 
throuble  he  took  in  makin'  it  so  nate  an'  aisy  for  us  poor  folk  to 
rade.  It  was  full  of  love  and  respict  to  his  poor  parents,  an'  he 
long^'  to  see  them  in  'Meriky ;  but  he  said  he  had  written  by 
stealth,  for  he  was  very  unhappy  intirely, — ^thathis  nnde  thrated 
him  harfiy,  beoaze  he  would  not  be  a  praste,-"-an'  wanted  to 
lave  him,  to  work  for  himsel' ;  an'  he  refused  to  buy  him  a  fkrm 


,w4«jfeSfe«i&i».iiai**ii^J*i^ 


m 


Lin  IN  THB  0UBARING8. 


wid  the  money  his  graad&iher  I^  him,  which  he  wtts  Ixnmd  1^ 
fhe  -will  to  do,  as  Hike  was  now  of  age,  an*  his  own  masther. '  - 

"  Whin  we  got  the  word  from  the  lad,  we  gathered  onr  littl^ 
all  together,  an*  tobk  passage  for  Canady,  first  writin'  to  Hike 
whin  we  should  start,  an*  the  name  of  tiie  reesel ;  an*  that  we 
should  wait  at  Oohoni^  nntil  sieh  time  as  he  came  to  fisteh  tis 
himsel*  to  his  nncle*8  place. 

"  But  <A,  Ha*am,  onr  thnrables  had  only  begtm.  Hy  poor 
husband  apd  my  youngest  bhoy  died  of  the  cholera  comin*  out ; 
an*  I  saw  theii'  preoUous  bodies  oast  into  the  salt^  salt  saa.  Btill 
the  hope  of  ieeing  Hfte  consowled  me  ^r  all  my  disthress. 
Poor  TtA  an*  I  were  worn  out  entirely  wMn  we  got  to  Eingston^ 
an*  I  lelfc  the  dbild  wid  a  frind,  an'  came  on  alone,^  was  so 
eager  to  see  HUce,  an*  tdl  him  aU  my  thronbks ;  an*  there  he 
lies,  ooh  hone  \  my  heart,  my  poor  heart,  it  will  break  entfarely.'* 

"And  what  caused  your  son's  separation  from  his  nnoleV'* 
saSdX 

The  woman  iiiioOk  her  head.  "The  thratement  he  got  from 
him  was  too  bad.  But  shnre  he  would  not  disthress  me  by  say- 
ing angfat  agin  my  mother's  son.  Did  he  not  bn^  his  heart, 
and  turn  him  dying  an*  pinniless  on  the  wide  world  t  An*  could 
he  have  done  worse  had  he  stuck  a  knife  into  his  heart  ?  1 

*^  Ah  !**  she  continued  with  bitterness,  "it  was  the  gowld,  the 
.  dhirty  gowld,  that  kilt  my  poor  bhoy.    His  uncle  knew,  that  if 
Mke  were  dead,  it  would  come  to  Pat  as  the  noe'est  in  degree, 
an*  he  could  keep  it  all  himsel*  for  the  ne'est  ten  years.*' 

This  stateme-it  appeared  only  too  probable.  Still  there  was  a 
mystery  about  the  wliole  affiur  that  required  a  solution,  and  it 
was  several  years  before  I  aoddentally  learned  the  sequel  of  this 
sad  history. 

'  In  the  meanwhile  the  messenger,  despatched  by  the  kind  Hr. 
S— —  to  Peterboro*  to  inform  Hiohael's  uncle  of  the  dying  state 
of  his  nephew,  returned  without  that  worthy,  and  with  this 
unfeeling  message— that  Michael  Macbride  had  left  him  without 
any  just  cause,  and  should  receive  no  consolation  from  him  in 
his  last  moments.  » 

Mr.  8  did  not  inform  the  poor  bereaved  widow  of  her 
brother's  cruel  message ;  but  finding  that  she  was  unable  to 


uwm  IN  raa  cuiutnios. 


199 


defivj  the  Mpenses  tttendtiit  on  her  iMa?B  ftmeraly  Iflce  ft  troo 
gftmaritofi,  he  8iii>plied  them  out  of  his  own  pocket,  and  fbOowed 
the  T&xmnB  of  the  tiniu^y  stronger  that  Providenee  had  oast 
upon  his  (diarity  to  the  grove.  In  aooordance  with  Mlchael*B 
last  reqoest,  he  was  bnried  in  the  cemetery  ef  ihe  Sngjkh 
obnroh. 

8iz  years  after  these  events  took  place,  Mr*  W^^-r—  called  npon 
me  at  onr  place  in  Donro,  and  amoiBg  other  things  told  me  of  the 
death  of  HichaelV  nncle,  Kr.  0-*-—. .  Many  tMngs  were  men- 
tioned by  "Mx.  W— — >  who  "^uf^vfid  to  know  him,  to  his  disad- 
vantage. "Birtof  all  his  evijl  aots,^  he  said^  **  the  worst  thing 
I  knew  of  him  was  his  condnct  to  hb  n^hew." 
.."How  was  that!"  said  I,  as  the  death-bed  of  IGehael  Hao- 
bride  rose  distinctly  before  me. 

**  It  was  A  bad  business.  My  ucJSekeepMr  lived  with  the  old 
man  at  the  time,  and  £rom  her  I  heard  aU  abont  it.  It  scans 
that  he  had  been  left  gnardion  to  this  boy,  whom  he  bron^  out 
with  him  some  years  ago  to  this  conntry,  together  with  a  little 
girl  abont  two  'years  yoni^r,  who  was  the  chfld  of.  a  daughter 
of  Ids  mothcor  by  a  former  marriage,  so  ^at  the  ohildrw  were 
half-condns  to  ^ach  other.  Elizabeth  was  a  ipodest,  clever  little 
creature,  and  grew  np  a  very  pretty  girl.  IGohael  was  strikingly 
handsome,  had  a  fine  talent  lor  mndc,  and  in  person  and  man- 
ners was  &r  above  his  condition.  There  was  some  property,  to 
the  amount  of  several  hundred  pounds,  coming  to  the  lad  when 
he  reached  the  age  of  twenty-one.    This  legacy  had  been  left 

him  by  his  grand&ther,  and  Mr.  0 was  to  invest  it  in  land 

for  the  boy's  use.  This,  for  roEtsons  best  known  to  himself  ho 
neglected  to  do,  and  br6ught  the  lad  up  to  the  service  of  the  altar, 
and  continually  ni^ed  him  to  become  a  priest.  This  did  not  at 
all  accord  with  Hichaers  views  and  wishes,  and  he  obstinately 
refhsed  to  study  for  the  holy  office,  and  told  his  unde  that  he 
meant  to  become  a  £eirmer  as  soon  as  he  obtaSned  his  minority. 
^,  "  Living  constantly  in  the  same  house,  and  possessing  a  con- 
geniality of  tastes  and  pursuits,  a  strong  affection  had  grown  up 
between  Michael  and  his  cousin,  which  circumstance  proved  the 


ostensible  reason  oiven<  bv  M; 


n_ 


*v*     &■««   AAA    \A/aA%a«aw    &%/    loiv 


young  people,  as  by  the  laws  of  his  church  they  were  too  near 


'■*■' 


i-.^%,l.^it^m»if^*itl*iMiiiii^ 


*4M 


LIVB  IN  THB  OLBAl^irOS; 


of  kin  to  marry.  Finding  that  their  attachment  was  too  strong 
to  be  -wrtttiohed  asonder  by  threats,  and  that  th^  had  aotaally 
fbrmeda  design  to  leaye  him,  and  embrace  the  I^teetant  fidth, 
he  ccmfined  the  giri  to  her  chamber,  without  allowing  her  a  fire, 
daring  a  yery  severe  winter.  Her  oonstitntion,  natnrally  weak, 
sunk  onder  tiiese  trials^  and  she  died  eurly  in  the  spring  of  1882, 
withont  being  aUowed  the  melanohcdy  satisfiMJtion  of  seeing  her 
lover  befiore  she  dosed  her  brief  Hfe. 

**  Her  death  decided- Miohaers  &te.  Rendered  desperate  by 
grief^  he  reproached  lus  Mgoted  nnole  as  the  anthor  of  his  misery, 
and  demanded  of  him  a  settlement  of  his  poperty,  as  it  was  his 
intention  to  qnit  his  roof  for  ever.  Mr.  O— — •  langhed  at  his 
reproaches,  and  treated  his  threats  with  scorn,  and  finally  cast 
hhn  fiiendless  upon  the  world. 

^*  The  poor  MLaw  played  very  well  upon  the  flute,  and  iKMeessed 
an  excellent  tenor  vdoe ;  and,  by  the  means  of  these  accomplish- 
ments, he  contrived  for  a  few  weeks  to  obtain  a  precarious 
living. 

**]%mken-hearted  and  done  in  the  world,  he  soon  f^  a  victim 
to  hereditary  disease  of  the  lungs,  and  died,  I  have  been  told,  at 
an  hotel  bi  Ooburg;  and  was  buried  at  the  expense  of  Mr. 
8        ,  the  tavern-keeper,  out  of  charity.*' 

"The  lattor  part  of  your  statement  I  know  to  be  correct ;  and 
the  whole  of  it  forcibly  corroborates  the  account  given  to  me  by 
the  poor  lad's  mother.  I  was  at  Miohaers  death-bed ;  and  if  his 
life  was  replete  vrith  sorrow  and  injustice,  his  last  hours  were 
peaoeftd  and  happy." 

•'  I  could  now  folly  comprehend  the  meaning  of  the  sad  stress 
laid  upon  the  one  word,  which  had  struck  me  so  forcibly  at  the 
time,  when  I  asked  him  if  he  had  fbrgiven  all  his  enemies,  and 
he  relied,  after  that  lengthened  pause,  "Yes;  I  have  forgiven 
them  all— even  A*m .'" 

.  It  did,  indeed,  require  some  exertion  of  Ohristian  forbearance 
to  forgive  such  injuries. 


TB^,iic-f*'"-^i 


r''*^,"V^-'-*^-; 


"rS;,^; 


"^J  nr  TPl  0LK4BI1TOS. 


201 


SONG. 

**  Tbete'i  hope  for  those  who  sleep 
In  the  oold  and  silent  grave, 
For  tiiose  who  smile,  for  those  who  weep, 
For  Ifae  fieemaii  and  the  slsre  t 

**  There's  hope  on  the  battle  plain, 
'Mid  the  shooilF  9t  ehargiBf  ftea ; 
On  the  dark  and  troubled  main, . 
When  the  gale  in  thunder  blows 

*'  He  who  dispenses  hope  to  all. 
Withholds  it  not  from  thee : 
He  breais  the  woe-wom  captive's  thrall, 
And  sets  the  prisoner  free  I" 


^.w 


•«•> 


OHAPTKRXU. 

M  Ah,  bmnan  hearts  are  ttrangelj  east, ' 

Wme  Mftons  ^ef  and  pain ; 
Lfln  reeds  that  ahiver  In  tlw  blast, 

^ey  bend  to  rise  again. 
Bnt  she  in  silenee  bowed  her  head. 

To  none  her  sorroir  wonld  hnpart: 
Sarth'a  fiiithfal  arms  enelose  the  dead, 

And  hide  for  aye  her  broken  heart,'* 

While  the  steamboat  is  leaving  Ooboni^  in  tbo  distance,  and, 
through  the  hours  of  night  and  darkness,  holds  on  her  oonrse  to 
Toronto,  I  will  relate  another  tme  bnt  monmM  history  from 
the  romance  of  early  life,  that  was  told  to  me  during  my  resi- 
dence in  this  part  of  the  country. 

One  morning  our  man-servant,  James  N— ~-,  came  to  me  to 
request  the  loan  of  one  of  the  horses  to  attend  a  fdneral.  M— — 
was  absent  on  business  at  Toronto,  and  the  horses  esd  the  man's 
time  were  both  greatly  needed  to  prepare  the  land  for  the  fall 

9'^ 


k'**  J^'^.ti 


,.\tttiUntik^n>J:v:- 


'■  ^^^'Wf  -'FW'.r 


2M 


uM  IV  ffHa  diiiitnrcM. 


crop  of  wheat.  I  demixrred;  Jfliaes  looked  anxioiiB  and  disap- 
pdnted;  and  the  loan  of  the  hone  was  at  length  granted,  but 
not  witiiont  a  strict  injunction  that  he  should  return  to  his  work 
directly  the  funeral  was  over.  He  ^d  not  come  back  nntil  late 
that  OTcnii^. 

I  had  just  finished  my  tea,  and  was  nnrsuag  my  wrath  at  his 
staying  ont  the  whole  day,  when  the  door  of  tibe  room  (we  had 
bnt  one,  and  tiiat  was  abutd  In  eommon  wfth  the  serrants) 
opened,  and  the  dettaqaent  at  hst  ai^eared.  Behnngnp  the 
new  EnijUsh  saddle,  and  sat^own  before  the  blazing  hearth 
inthout  speaking  a  word. 

'  **  What  detained  you  so  long,  James!  Yon  ong^t  to  have 
had  half  an  acre  of  land,  at  least,  ploughed  to-day.** 

"  Yerra  troe,  mktress ;  it  was  nae  fiiQ*t  a*  mine.  I  had  mis<- 
ta*en  the  hoar ;  the  foneral  did  na  oome  in  tSot^  son-doon,  an*  I 
cam*  awa*  as  snne  as  it  was  owre.'* 

"Was  it  any  relation  of  yonrst** 

"Na*,  na*,  jest  a  fireend,  an  itnld  acquaintance,  bat  nane  o* 
mine  un  kin.  I  never  felt  sae  sad  in  a*  my  life  as  I  hate  done 
this  day.  I  ha'e  seen  the  clods  piled  on  mony  a  held,  an*  never 
felt  the  sant  tear  in  my  een.  'But  poir  Jeaniel  pnir  lass!  it  was 
a  sair  sight  to  see  them  thrown  down  npon  her.** 

My  cnriosity  was  ezdted;  I  poshed  the  tea>things  from  me, 
and  told  Bell,  my  maid,  to  give  James  his  sapper. 

"  Naething  for  me  the  night,  BeD.  I  canna*  eat ;  my  thoughts 
will  a'  run  on  that  pair  lass.  Sae  young,  sae  bonnie,  an'  a  few 
months  ago  as  Uythe  as  a  lark,  an*  noo  a  dod  o*  the  airth. 
HoutI  we  maun  a*  dee  when  our  sin  time  comes;  but,  some- 
how, I  canna  think  that  Jeanie  ought  to  ha*e  gane  sae  sune.** 

"Who  is  Jeanie  Boms?  Tell  me,  James,  something  about 
j^r«»» 

'  In  eomplianee  with  my  request,  the  man  gave  me  the  follow- 
ing story.  I  wish  I  could  convey  it  in  his  own  words;  but 
though  I  perfectly  understand  the  Scotch  dialect  when  I  hMT  it 
spoken,  I  could  not  write  it  in  its  dharming  shnpMcitf,— that 
honest,  trathfUl  Inrevity,  which  is  so  charaoteristio  of  this  noble 
people.  The  smooth  tones  ef  the  blsney  may  flattelonr  vaa* 
1^,  and  please  vs  tot  the  moment,  but  who  plaoee  fmy  ooi^- 


11 


UWm  IN  THB  OLBARIirOS. 


deam  in  those  by  whom  it  is  emptoyedt  We  know  that  it  Is 
only  uttered  to  o%)ole  and  deceive ;  and  when  the  lUireUy  wears 
ofl^the  vepetitiioB  awakens  indignaticm  imd  disg^t.  But  who 
ntistrosts  the  bloat,  straightforward  spec^  of  the  land  of 
Boras  ?  for  good  or  ill,  it  strikes  lumie  to  the  heart. 

Jeanie  Boras  was  the  daog^ter  ^  a  raqpeotahle  shoemaker, 
who  gained  a  oomfertable  liyiog  by  his  tMde  in  a  small  town  of 
Ayrshire.  Her  firtiher^  like  herseli^  was  aa  o^y  child,  and  fol- 
lowed the  same  vocation,  and-wrooght  midef  thei  iuimis  roof  that 
his  fiiither  had  done  before  him.  The  ^er  Btann  had  met  with 
many  reverses;  and  now,  helpless  and  blind,'  was  isntirefy  de- 
pend^&t  apen  tiie  charity  of  his  son.  Honest  Jock  Hifl  not 
nuurried  until  lale  in  ttft^  thac  li»ittight  more  eomfortaMy  pro- 
vide £Mr  the  wants  of  his  aged  parmits.  His  mottier  had  been 
deai  fodr  e(MQM  yeanki  She  was  a  good,  pions  woesan,  and  Jock 
quaintly  affirmed  "that  it  had  jdeased  the  Lord  to  provide  a 
better  inheritance  for  his  dear  anld  mither  than  his  arm  oordd  win, 
prood  an^  happy  as  he  wud  ba^e  been  to  ha*e  snpported  her, 
when  she  was  nas  langer  able  to  woric  for  him.**  '^ 

vf  Jock's  SUal  love  was  repaid  at  last.  Ohanoe  tiirewin  his 
way  a  oannie  young  lass,  baith  gude  an*  bonnie,  an*  wi*  a  hantel 
o'  siller.  They  wtfe  tmited,  and  Jeanie  was  the  sole  frait  of  the 
manage.  But  Jeanie  proved  a  host  in  herself,  and  grew, up  the 
best-natnred,  the  prettiest,  and  the  most  industrious  ^rl  in  the 
village^  and  was  a  general  fkvorite  witili  young  and  old.  She 
helped  her  mother  in  the  house,  bound  shoes  for  her  fother,  and 
attended  to  all  the  wants  of  her  deer  old  grandfather,  Saunders 
Burns,  who  was  so  much  attaohed  to  his  little  handmdd,  that  he 
was  never  happy  when  she  was  absent. 

Happiness,  however,  is  not  a  flower  of  long  growth  in  this 
world ;  it  requires  the  dew  and  siinlight  of  heaven  to  nourish  it, 
and  it  soon  withers,  removed  from  its  native  skies.  The  cholera 
visited  the  remote  village;  it  smote  the  s^ng  man  in  the  pride 
of  his  strength,  and  tba  matron  in  the  beauty  of  her  prime, 
while  it  spared  the  helpless  and  the- aged,  the  infant  of  afow 
days,  and  the  patriarch  of  many  years.  Both  Jeanie's  parents 
fell  victims  to  the  fatal  disease,  and  the  old  blbid  Ssnstders  fmd 


SOi 


un  m  IBB  csMAtaum, 


the  young  Jeaaie  were  left  to  ^t  abne  a  hard  battle  wfth  po« 
verty  and  grief. 

The  truly  deserving  art  never  entirely  forsaken;  God  m^ 
afflict  than  with  many  trials,  bat  he  watohee  ovw  them  stfil, 
and  often  pro'^idea  for  theb  irai^  in  a  manner  tmly  ndraotdons. 
Sympathising  friMtda  gathered  ronnd  the  orphan  girl  in  hw  honr 
of  need,  and  obtaiaeifor  her  aniBdenl  enjoyment  to  enable 
h&t  to  sappwt  her  old  gran^irtlier  and  herw^^  and  provide  for 
them  the  eommon  neoeesariee  of  life. 

Jeaide  waa  an  eiEoeUiNvt  aMmBtreas,  and  what  between  making 
waistooats  and  trousers  for  tiie  tailors,  and  Unding  shoes  for  the 
shoMnakers, — a  bnstness  ^t  she  thfwoaghly  nnder8tood,-~«ho 
eoon  had  her  little^  hired  room  neatly  ftenished,  and  her  grimd- 
fiftther  as  olean  and  q>niee  as  ever.  When  she  led  him  into  ^tt» 
kirk  of  a  sabbath  morning,  all  the  neighbonrs  greeted  the  dntifol 
dai^hter  with  an  approving  smile,  and  the  old  man  looked  so 
serezM  and  happy  that  Jeanie  waa  folly  repaid  fw  her  labonra  el 
love^i  ,■  •  ■  '•-^^•' 

Her  industry  and  piety  often  formed  the  theme  of  conversation 
to  the  yoang  lads  of  the  village.  ^  What  a  g«d  wife  Jeanie 
Barns  widl  mak*  t"  cried  ^e. 

„   "  Aye,"  said  another ;  •  ^^  he  need  na  eompUan  of  ill  fortin  who 
<  lias  the  lack  to  get  the  like  o*  her." 

^  AnV  she's  sae  bonnie,"  woald  Willie  Robertson  add,  with  a 
fflgfa :  "  I  wad  na  covet  the  wealth  o*  the  hale  world  an*  she 
-were  mine." 

Willie  Bobertson  was  a  fine  active  yoong  man,  who  bore  an 
excellent  character,  and  his  comrades  thought  it  very  likely  that 
Willie  was  to  be  the  fortunate  man.    Robertson  was  the  son  of 
:  a  farmer  in  the  neighborhood ;  he  had  no  land  of  his  own,  and 
'  he  was  the  youngest  of  a  very  large  family.    From  a  boy  he 
had  assisted  his  fother  in  working  the  fbrm  for  thdr  common 
f  maintenance ;  bat  after  he  took  to  looking  at  Jeanie  Bums  at  kirk, 
:  instead  of  minding  his  prayers,  he  began  to  wish  that  he  had  a 
homestead  of  his  own,  which  he  could  ask  JeMiie  and  her  grand- 
fattier  to  share. 

He  made  his  wishes  known  to  his  fE^ther,    The  old  man  was 


^^i^a*,ii^..^A.J!iuiiUii'^^ 


um  IN  rm  olbabxhos. 


prudent  A  marriage  with  Jeanie  Bnrna  offered  no  advaatagee 
in  a  peoaniary  view;  but  the  girl  Was  a  good, bonett  g^rl,  of 
wkom  any  man  might  be  proud.  He  bad  liimeelf  married  for 
love,  tatd  bad  enjoyed  great  comfort  in  bis  wife.  ' 
ci^  WiUie,  my  lad,"  be  said,  "I  canna  gi*e  ye  a  sbare  e*  tbe 
fiucm.  It  is  owre  nna'  for  tbe  moay  mootba  it  bas  to  feed.  I 
ba'e  laid  by  a  bant^  o^  siller  for  a  rainy  day^  an'  tbis  I  maan 
gi'e  ye  to  win  a  liMrm  for  yonrsel'  in  tbe  woods  of  Oanada; 
Tbere  is  plenty  o*  room  tbere,  an'  industry  U-ings  its  ain  reward. 
If  Jeaaie  Boms  lo'es  yoaas  weel  aa  y<Mir  Cf*s.v  mitber  did  me, 
sbe  wiU  be  Uin  to  follow  yon  tbere. 

Willie  grasped  bis  fotber's  hand,  for  be  was  too  maob  elat^ 
to  H>eak,  and  be  ran  away  to  t^  his  tale  of  love  to  tbe  g^rl  of 
his  heart.  Jeanie  bad  long  loved  Robertson  in  seoret,  and  they 
were  not  long  in  srttlii^  tbo  matter.  They  ioxgot^  in  their  first 
mommits  oi  joy,  that  did  Sannders  bad  to  be  oonsolted,  for  they 
bad  determined  to  take  tbe  old  man  with  them.  Bnt  here  an 
obstade  oconrred,  of  which  they  had  not  dreamed.  Old  age  is 
selfish,  and  Saunders  obstinately  refiised  to  comply  with  their 
wishes.  The  grave  that  held  tbe  r^ni^ns  of  bis  wife  and  son 
was  dearer  to  him  than  all  tbe  comforts  promised  to  him  by  tbe 
fanpatittit  lovers  in- that  for  fordgn  land,  Jeanie  wept,  but 
Saunders,  deaf  and  blind,  neither  heard  nor  saw  her  grief,  and 
like  a  datifol  child  she  breathed  no  complaint  to  him,  but  pro- 
mised to  remain  with  him  until  his  head  rested  on  the  same  pil- 
low with  the  dead. 

This  was  a  sore  and  great  trial  to  WiUie  Bobertson,  bat  ho 
consoled  himself  for  the  disappointment  with  the  reflection  that 
Saunders,  in  the  course  of  nature,  could  not  live  long;  and  that 
he  would  go  and  prepare  a  place  for  his  Jean,  and  have  every- 
thing ready  for  her  reception  against  the  old  man  died. 
j,i/'I  was  a  cousin  of  Willie's,!'  continued  James,  "  by  the 
DUther's  side,  an'  her  persuaded  me  to  go  wi'  him  to  Oanada. 
We  set  sail  the  first  o'  May,  an'  were  here  in  time  to  chop  a  sma' 
fallow  for  our  foil  crop.  Willie  had  more  o'  the  warld's  gear 
than  Jy  for  his  father  had  provided  him  wl'  sufficient  funds  to 
purchase  a  good  lot  o'  vrild  land,  which  he  did  in  the  township 


nf  M, 


isr^  ■ 


am 


LIFE  IN  TUB  OUARIITOS. 


the  flnfc  setUen  in  timt  plaoe^  an*  w«  found  the  wark  before  i» 
rongh  atid  hard  to  onr  hearf  a  content.  Willie,  however,  had  a 
strong  motive  for  exertion,  an*  seever  did  mui  wark  harder  than 
he  did  that  first  year  on  his  bosh-fSarra,  for  the  k>ve  o*  Jeanie 
Boms.  We  built  a  ODinf<ttial)le  log-house,  in  which  we  were 
assisted  by  the  few  neigbonrs  we  had,  who  likewise  lent  a  ban* 
in  olearing  ten  aores  w«  had  chopped  for  fldl  crop. 

"All  this  time  Willie  kept  np  a  oorrespondoDioe  wi*  Jeanie; 
an'  he  used  to  talk  to  meo*  her  eomW  ont^  an'  his  ftitnre  pl|t&s, 
every  night  when  om  wark  was  done.  If  I  had  na  lovit  and 
respected  the  {^rl  mysel',  I  sad  ha'e  got  nnco  tired  o'  the  snb- 
jeot. 

"We  had  Jest  pnt  in  onr  first  orep  o'  wheati  when  a  tetter 
cam'  firae  Jeanie  brini^n*  nil  the  news  o'  her  grand&ther's  death. 
Weel  I  ken  the  word  that  WlMte  apak*  to  me  when  lie  closed  the 
letter,-^*  Jamioi  the  anM  man's  gone  at  hist  \  an*  Ood  fco'gi'e  me, 
I  feel  ioo  gladsome  to  greet.  Jeanie  is  willhL'  to  come  w^never 
I  ha'e  the  means  to  bring  her  out;  an'  hotit,  man,  I'm  jest  ^hsk- 
in' that  she  winoaha^e  tor  wait  bmgt'       c    w«kv»«^^'' 

"Gkiid  workmen  were  gettih'  vMry^^wifas  Jestthei^  an* 
Willie  left  the  care  o'  the  ]rface  to  me,  an*  hired  for  three  months 
wi'  anld  Squire  Jones,  in  the  next  townc^p.  Willie  was  an  imoo 
gnid  teamster,  an'  ooold  pat  his  ban'  to  bny  kind  o'  wark ;  an' 
when  his  term  o'  service  expired,  he  sent  Jeanie  forty  dollars  to 
pay  her  paRsage  out,  which  he  hoped  she  wonld  not  delay  longer 
than  the  spring. 

"He  got  an  answer  £rae  Jeanie  foil  o'  lore  m'  gratitude;  hM 
she  thought  that  her  voyage  might  be  delayed  nntil  the  fall. 
The  gnid  woman  with  whom  she  had  lodged  sin'  her  parents 
died  had  jest  lost  her  husband,  an*  was  in  a  bad  state  o'  healtit, 
an'  she  begged  Jeanie  to  bide^  wi'  her  nntil  her  daughter  could 
leave  her  service  in  Edinbui^,  an'  come  to  tak'  charge  o'  the 
house.  This  person  had  been  a  kind  an'  steadfast  fdn'  to  Jeanie 
in  a'  her  trotibles,  ftn*  had  helped  her  to  nurse  the  auM  man 
in  his  dyin'  illness.  I  am  sure  it  was  jest  like  Jeanie  to  act  as 
she  did;  she  had  all  her  life  looked  more  to  the  comforts  of 
others  than  to  her  ain.  Bobertson  was  an  angry  man  when  he 
got  that  letter,  an'  he  said, — •  If  that  was  a*  the  lo'e  that  J^uiie 


Lus  nr  nu  ouabivob. 


t07 


BnrBS  had  finr  bin,  to  prefer  an  avid  wUb*s  oomiart,  wha^ras 
iwtWng  to  her,  to  her  betrothed  hnsband,  die  ndght  Ude  awa* 
as  lang  as  she  pleased;  he  tv^oold  nerer  fash  himsel*  to  mak* 
soreed  o*  pen  to  her  agen.* 

*^J  oQold  na  think  that  the  man  was  In  eardest)  an*  I  renum- 
strated  wi*  hhnon his iblly  an*  ii\|iistioe.  This  ended  in  a  diarp 
qoaxrel  atween  us^  and  I  left  him  to  gang  his  aki  gait,  an*  went 
to  Uve  with  my  nnde,  who  kepi  the  smithy  in  the  village. 
^(1*  After  a  while,  we  heard  that  Willie  Bobertson  was  married 
to  a  Oanadian  woman,  ndther  yonng  nor  good-loicAing,  an*  yara 
mneh  his  in&nor  eveiy  way;  but  she  had  a  good  lot  o*  land  in 
the  rear  o*  his  £euiq.  Of  oonrse  I  thooj^t  it  was  a*  broken  aff 
•  wi*  pnir  Jean,  im*  I  wondered  what  the  wnd  sj^  at  the  marriage. 

**  It  was  early  in  Jone,  an*  the  Oanadian  woods  were  in  their 
first  flash  o*  greeny— aB*  Iww  green  an*  lightsome  they  be  in  their 
Bpaa^  dress  t—when  Jeanie  Boma  laaded  in  Oanada^  She  tra- 
veUed  her  lane  up  the  oonntry,  wonderin*  why  WiBie  was  not  at 
Montreal  to  meet  her,  as  he  had  ^ronused  in  the  last  letter  ho 
sent  her.  It  was  lato  in  the  aftsimo<m  when  the  steamer  brought 
her  to  Oobmrg,  an*  withont  widtin*  to  ask  ony  qnestions  respeotin* 
him,  she  hired  a  man  an*  cart  to  take  her  an*  her  luggage  to 
ll--«— .  The  road  through  the  bosh  was  vera  heavy,  an*  it  was 
night  before  they  reached  Bobertson*s  dearin*.  Wi*  some  difS^. 
onlty  the  driver  fond  his  way  among  the  charred  logs  to  the 
cabin  door. 

"  Hearin*  the  somid  o*  wheels,  the  wife — a  coarse,  ^-dressed 
slattern — cam*  ont  to  spier  wha  could  bring  ptrangers  to  sic'  an 
out-o*-the-way  place  at  that  lato  hour.  Fair  Jeanie  I  I  cm  weel 
imagin*  the  flotterin*  o*  her  heart,  when,  she  spiered  o*  the  coarse 
wife  *if  her  am  Willie  Robertson  was  at  hamet* 

>*>  Yes,*  answered  the  woman  grnfBy;  ^bntheisnot  infirae 
the  fallow  yet.  Ton  mami  ken  him  np  yonder,  tending  the  blais* 
mg  logs.* 

"  Whiles  Jeanie  was  strivin*  to  look  in  the  direction  which 
the  woman  pointed  out,  an*  conld  na  see  through  the  tears  that 
blinded  her  e*e,  the  driver  jumped  down  frae  the  cart,  an*  asked 
the  pnir  lass  whar  he  snr  leave  her  tnmks,  as  it  was  getting  late^ 
and  he  must  be  aff. 


208 


UTS  IN  TBI  0UURI1IO8. 


'  ^  *  Ton  need  na  bring  tbae  big  kiats  in  here,*  q^^oth  Mietrees 
Robertson;  *I  bft'e  na  room  in  my  house  for  strangers  an*  their 
luggage.* 

"Your  house  1*  gasped  Jeanie,  catcbin'  her  arm.  'IHd  ye  na 
tell  me  he  lived  here  9— an'  wherever  Willie  Bobertson  bides, 
Jeanie  Borne  sad  be  a  wekxNne  guest.  Tell  him,*  she  oontinued, 
tremblinV  all  owre,— for  ahe  telt  me  afterwards  that  there  was 
Bomethin*  in  the  woman's  look  an*  tone  that  made  the  eold  chills 
run  to  her  heart,— *that  an  aold  fHnd  frae  Scotland  has  jest 
oome  affa  lang,  wearisome  Journey  to  see  Idm.'^ 

» *  You  may  spier  for  yoursel',  sidd  the  woman,  uigrily.  *  My 
husband  is  noo  oomin'  dune  the  dearin.** 

**  The  word  husband  was  soaroely  out  o*  her  month,  than  pnir 
Jeanie  foil  as  ane  dead  across  tiie  doorniti^.  The  driver  lifted 
up  the  ui^ortnnat'  g^l,  carried  her  into  the  cabin,  an'  placed  hor 
in  a  ebair,  regardless  o'  the  oppoution  of  Mistress  Bobertson, 
whose  Jealousy  was  now  fi^rly  aronsed,  an'  she  declared  that 
the  bold  hizzie  sud  not  enter,  hw  doors. 
.  "It  was  a  l<»g  time  afore  the  driver  succeeded  in  bringin' 
Jeanie  to  hersel';  an*  she  had  only  Jest  unclosed  her  een,  when 
WiUiecam'in. 

"  *■  Wife,*  he  said,  *■  whose  cart  is  this  atandin'  at  the  door  t  an' 
what  do  these  people  want  hece  9* 

i',  **  *  You  ken  best,'  cried  the  angry  woman.  *That  oreater  is 
nae  acquaintance  o'  mine ;  an'  if  she  is  suffered  to  remtdn  here, 
I  will  quit  the  house.' 

"  ^  Forgi'e  me,  gude  woman,  for  having  unwittingly  offended 
you,'  said  Jeanie,  rising;  ^but  mercifri'  Father!  how  sud  I  ken 
that  Willie  Robertson— my  ain  Willie— had  a  wife  I  Oh.  Willie  1' 
she  cried,  coverin'  her  foce  in  her  hands,  to  hide  a'  the  agony 
that  was  in  her  heart,  ^I  ha'e  oome  a  lang  way,  an'  a  weary,  to 
see  ye,  an'  ye  might  ha'e  spared  me  the  grief,  the  bumin'  shame 
o'  this.  Farewed,  Willie  Robertson !  I  will  never  mair  trouble 
ye  nor  her  wi'  my  presence ;  but  this  cruel  deed  o'  youra  has 
broken  my  heart  1'  . 

!  "She  went  her  lane  weepin',  an'  he  had  nathe  courage  to 
detain  her,  or  speak  ao  word  o'  comfort  in  her  sair  distress,  or 
attempt  to  gi'e  ony  account  o'  his  strange  conduct.    Yet,  if  I 


Un  VK  tHE  OUARXKOS. 


200 


ken  bfm  right,  that  most  ha*o  been  the  most  eorrowfh*  moment 
in  hin  Nfe. 

**  Jeanie  was  a  distant  connexion  o*  mj  annt^s ;  an*  ihe  fonnd 
ns  ont  that  night,  on  her  return  to  the  village,  an*  tonld  ns  a* 
her  grief.  My  annt  was  a  liind,  gold  woman,  an*  was  inidignant 
at  the  treatment  she  had  receiyed,  an*  loved  and  cherished  her 
as  if  she  had  been  her  ain  bairn.  For  two  whole  weeks  she 
kept  her  bed,  an*  was  sae  ill,  that  the  dootor  despaired  o*  her 
life;  and  when  she  did  oome  amang  tis  agen,  the  rose  had  &ded 
aff  her  cheek,  an*  the  lig^t  frae  her  sweet  bine  e*e,  an*  she  spak* 
in  a  low,  sebdned  voice ;  but  she  never  aoonsed  him  o*  being  the 
canse  o*  her  grief.    One  day  she  called  me  aside  and  said — 

^ '  Jamie,  yon  ken*d  how  I  lo*ed  an*  tnisted  him,  an*  obeyed 
his  ain  wish  in  comin*  bnt  to  this  wearisome  country  to  bo  his 
wife.  Bnt  *tis  a*  owre  now.*  An*  she  passed  her  sma*  hands 
tightfy  owre  her  breast,  to  keep  doon  the  swellih*  o*  her  heart. 
*  Jamie,  I  ken  that  this  is  a*  for  the  best;  I  lo*ed  him  too  weel, — 
mair  than  ony  creature  end  lo*e  a  perishin*  thing  o*  earth.  But 
I  thought  that  he  wud  be  sae  glad  an*  sae  proud  to  see  his  dn 
Jeanie  sae  snne.  But,  oh! — ah,  weel;  I  maun  na  think  o*  that, 
What  I  wud  jest  say  is  this ' — and  she  tuk  a  sraa*  packet  froe 
her  breast,  while  thersaut  tears  streamed  doon  her  pale  cheeks 
— *he  sent  me  forty  dollars  to  bring  me  owre  the  sea  to  him. 
God  bless  him  for  that!  I  ken  he  worked  hard  to  earn  it,  for  he 
lo*ed  me  then.  I  was  na  idle  during  his  absence ;  I  had  saved 
enough  to  bury  my  dear  auld  grandfather,  an*  to  pay  my  ex- 
penses out ;  an*  I  thought,  like  the  gnid  servant  in  ihe  parable, 
I  wud  return  Willie  his  ain  wi*  interest,  an*  I  hoped  to  see  him 
smile  at  my  diligence,  an*  ca*  me  his  dear,  bonnie  lassie.  Jamie, 
I  oanna  keep  his  siller ;  it  lies  like  a  weight  o*  lead  on  my  heart. 
Tak'  it  back  to  him,  an*  tell  him  frae  me,  that  I  forgive  him  a*  his 
cruel  deceit,  an*  pray  God  to  grant  him  prosperity,  an*  restore 
to  him  that  peace  o*  mind  o*  which  he  has  robbed  me  for 
ever,* 

"  I  did  as  she  bade  me.    Willie  Robertson  looked  stupified , 
when  I  delivered  her  message.    The  only  remark  he  made  when  ; 
I  gied  him  the  siller  was,  *■  I  maun  be  gratefu*,  man,  that  she  did 
na  curse  me.*    The  wife  cam*  in,  an*  he  hid  awa*  the  packet  and 


9fD 


t»«  m  rm  ouarxvoi. 


■hAk  M  the  ». «  lookvA  d«|^M4«4  In  hia  idn  ilgbt,  n*  Me 
wretclied,  that  I  pitlied  him  frae  my  heart. 

^  I'hen  I  cam*  hamo,  Jeanie  met  ne  i^  the  yet.  *Tdl  me,' 
itu  i^d,  in  a  dowie,  anxfotis  ytriee,~*ten  me,  ooiafai  Jamie, 
whm  >«iMd  at#eeii  ye.    Had  WilUe  aae  word  for  mot* 

^*%tmdt.^.  Jeaoie.  The  man  is  hK«to  himwr—tiKa*  who 
anee  widied  Aim  weel.  >  He  ia  na  vroith  a  decent  body^s 
tiionght.* 

**Bhe  sighed  Mlrly;  m*  I  saw  that  her  heart  eraved  after 
some  word  or  token  frae  him.  She  said  naemair;  hntpatoaa* 
sorrowAd,  the  verra  ghaist  o*  her  former  eel*,  went  back  into  the 
house. 

**  |Vae  Uiat  boor  she  lieTe^  bteathed  his  name  to  ony  6'  tis ; 
but  we  all  ken*d  that  it  was  her  lo*e  fbr  faitn  that  was  wearin*  ont 
her  life.  The  grief  that  hfl»  nae  voice,  like  the  canker-worm, 
lies  ue*eet  the  hearth  Piiir  Jean,  she  held  ont  dnrin*  the  summer, 
bat  when  the  &*  cam*,  she  jest  withered  awa*,'  like  a  flower 
nipped  by  the  early  froSt;  an*  this  day  we  laid  her  in  the 
earth. 

"After  the  ftineral  was  owre,  an*  the  monmers  a*  gane,  I 
stood  beside  her  grave,  thinking  owre  1^.9  days  o*  my  boyhood, 
when  she  an*  I  were  happy  weans,  l.,u*  used  to  pn*  the  gowans 
together,  on  the  heathery  hills  o  dear  anld  Scotland.  An*  I 
tried  in  vain  to  nnderstan*  the  mysterious  providence  o*  Qod  that 
had  stricken  her,  who  seemed  sae  gold  an*  pure,  an*  spared  the 
like  o*  me,  who  was  mair  deservin'  o'  his  wrath,  when  I  heard 
a  deep  groan,  an*  I  saw  Willie  Boberteon  standin*  near  me,  be- 
ride  tKo  :7ave. 

" '  You  may  as  wed  spare  your  grief  noo,'  sud  I,  for  I,  felt 
hard  towards  him,  *an*  rejoice  that  the  weu'y  is  at  rest.* 

"*It  was  I  killed  her,*  said  he;  ^ar.*  fhe  thought  will  ju^uvt 
me  to  my  last  day.   Did  she  remember  me  on  her  deatb   •  ' ' 

**  *  Her  thoughts  were  only  ken*d  by  Him,  Willie,  wno  reads 
the  secrets  of  a*  hearts.  Her  end  was  peace ;  and  her  Saviour's 
blessed  il&y  ^  was  the  last  sound  on  her  lips.  If  ever  woman 
died  o*  a  broi    ■  l!r«.ri,  there  she  lies.* 

"*Ah,  Jt<i!^;'  '  be  t-.iioA^  *my  ain  darlin*  Jeamo  I  my  Wessed 
lammie!  I  *?.iy   la  '.worthy  o*  yer   luve.     My  heart,  too,  is 


Lira  »  m  (  (.■ariwos. 


911 


brMkin*.  To  bring  ye  back  anoe  raair,  I  would  i^adly  lay  me 
(loon  an'  dee.' 

*^  An'  he  flnng  binuel'  npou  tlo  fresh  pilod  sods,  an'  greeted 
likeAchUd. 

"  Whw  be  grew  more  oalm,  we  had  a  long  converBation  atxrat 
the  past;  an*  txvUj  I  tbiok  that  the  man  wa«  n*  in  bis  right 
senieB,  when  he  married  yon  wlfew  At  ony  rate,  he  ii  nae  lang 
for  tb^  T  orM;  be  has  "fretted  the  flebb  aff  hb  banes,  an*  nforo 
wr     '  .0)  lbs  are  owre,  bis  held  wnl  Ue  aa  low  as  pair  Jeanio 

UY  NATIVE  I«ANI). 

**  My  nattve  ImA,  my  nathra  land  I 
How  maay  tender  ii«a, 
Coimeoted  with  thy  distent  itrand, 
.    Cell  forth  my  heatysigfasl 


'^Tha  ragfed  rook,  the  momtiUa  stream, 
The  hoMjr  pine>tree's  shsde^ 
Where  often  in  the  noouf  tide  beam, 
A  happy  child  I  played. 


"  I  thhik  of  thee,  when  esrly  light 
Is  trembling  on  the  hill ; 
I  think  of  thee  at  dead  of  night, 
When  aU  is  dark  and  stifl. 


.i>- 


"  I  think  of  those  whom  I  shall  see 
On  this  fair  earth  no  more ; 
And  wish  in  yain  for  wings  to  flee 
Bade  to  tiiy  much-loved  shore." 


# 


212 


LIFB  IN  Tllli  OLBARINOB. 


\i 


':^ 


CHAPTER  Xin. 

"  Ohi  hotr  I  lore  the  ple»Miit  wooda,  when  silence  reignt  around, 
And  the  mighty  Mhadows  oalmly  sleep,  lilie  giants  on  the  gronnd, 
And  the  fire-fly  sports  her  ftiry  lamp  beside  the  moonlit  stream, 
And  the  loftiy  trees,  in  solemn  state,  frown  darkly  in  the  beam  I** 

Thkrk  was  a  poor  woman  on  board  the  steamer,  who  was  liko 
myself  in  search  of  health,  and  was  going  to  the  West  to  see  her 
fi^ends,  and  to  get  rid  of  (if  possible)  a  hollow,  consumptive 
coQgh.  She  looked  to  me  in  the  last  stage  of  pnlmonary  con- 
sumption ;  but  she  seemed  to  hope  everything  from  the  change 
of  air. 

She  had  been  for  many  years  a  resident  in  the  woods,  and  had 
suffered  great  hardships ;  but  the  greatest  sorrow  she  ever  knew, 
she  said,  and  what  had  pulled  her  down  the  most,  was  the  loss 
of  a  fine  boy,  who  had  strayed  away  after  her  through  the  bush, 
when  she  went  to  nurse  a  sick  neighbour ;  and  though  every 
search  had  been  made  for  the  child,  he  had  never  been  found. 
*'  It  is  many  a  year  ago,"  she  said,  "  and  he  would  be  a  fine  young 
man  now,  if  he  were  alive."  And  she  sighed  deeply,  and  still 
seemed  to  cling  to  the  idea  that  he  might  possibly  be  living,  with 
a  sort  of  forlorn  hope,  that  to  me  seemed  more  melancholy  than 
the  certainty  of  his  death. 

This  brought  to  my  recollection  many  tales  that  I  had  been 
told,  while  living  in  the  bush,  of  persons  who  had  perished  in 
this  miserable  manner.  Some  of  these  tales  may  chance  to  inter- 
est my  readers. 

I  was  busy  sewing  one  day  for  my  little  girl,  when  we  lived  in 

the  township  of  Hamilton,  when  Mrc.  H ^  a  woman  whoso 

husband  farmed  our  farm  on  shares,  came  running  in  quite  out 
of  breath,  and  cried  out — 

"  Mrs.  M ,  you  have  heard  the  good  news  ? — one  of  the 

lost  children  is  found  t" 

I  shook  my  head,  and  looked  inqulFingly. 

**  What  I  did  not  you  hear  about  it  ?    Why,  one  of  Clark's  little 


:s: 


UrZ  IN  THE  OLBARINOS. 


218 


»i< 


fellows,  who  were  lost  last  Wednesday  in  the  woods,  has  been 
found." 

^*  I  am  glad  of  it.    Bat  how  were  they  lost?'* 

**0h,  'tis  a  thing  of  rery  common  oconrrenoe  here.  New 
settlers,  who  are  ignorant  of  the  danger  of  going  astray  in  the 
forest,  are  always  haring  tiieir  children  lost.  I  take  good  cftre 
nev^  to  let  my  boys  go  alone  to  the  bush.  Bat  people  are  so 
careless  in  this  respect,  that  I  wonder  it  does  not  more  frequently 
happen. 

"These  little  chaps  are  the  sons  of  a  poor  emigrant  who  came 
oat  this  summer,  and  took  up  a  lot  of  wild  land  just  at  the  back 
of  us,  towards  the  plains.  Olark  is  busy  logging  up  his  follow 
for  fidl  wheat,  on  which  his  family  must  depend  for  bread  during 
the  ensaing  year ;  and  he  is  so  anxious  to  get  it  ready  in  time, 
that  he  will  not  allow  himself  an  hour  at  noon  to  go  home  to  get 
his  dinner,  which  his  wife  generally  sends  in  a  basket  to  tho 
woods  by  his  eldest  daughter,  a  girl  of  foarteen. 

"  Last  We'laesday,  the  girl  had  been  sent  on  an  errand  by  her 
mother,  who  thought  that,  in  her  absence,  she  might  venture  tu 
trost  the  two  boys  to  take  the  dinner  to  their' father.  The  boys, 
who  are  from  five  to  seven  years  old,  and  very.jimart  and  know- 
ing for  their  age,  promised  to  mind  all  her  directions,  and  went 
off  quite  proud  of  the  task,  carrying  the  little  basket  between 
them. 

"  How  they  came  to  ramble  off  into  the  woods,  the  yonngcr 
child,  .rto  has  been  just  found,  is  too  much  stupefied  to  tell,  and 
perhaps  he  is  too  young  to  remember. 

"  At  night  Olark  returned  from  his  work,  and  scolded  his  wifo 
for  not  sending  his  dinner  as  usual ;  but  the  poor  woman  (who 
all  day  had  quieted  her  fears  with  the  belief  that  the  children 
had  stayed  with  their  father),  instead  of  paying  any  regard  to  his 
angry  words,  demanded,  in  a  tone  of  agony,  what  had  become 
of  her  children  ? 

"  Tired  and  hungry  as  Olark  was,  he  instantly  comprehended 
the  danger  to  which  his  boys  were  exposed,  and  started  off  in 
pursuit  of  them.  The  shrieks  of  the  distracted  woman  soon 
called  the  neighbours  together,  who  instantly  joined  in  the  search. 
It  was  not  until  this  afternoon  that  any  trace  ooald  be  discovered 


%H 


LUX  pr  THB  0LEARIB68. 


,/^^ 


of  the  loet  children,  when  Brian,  tiie  hunter,  found  the  yoongeet 
boy,  Johnnie,  lying  fast  asleep  npon  the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree, 
fifteen  miles  baok  in  the  bush." 

"Andthebrotiierr 

**  Will  never,  I  fear,  be  heard  of  again*  They  have  searohed 
for  him  in  f^  direclaona,  and  have  not  diaoovered  him.  The 
story  little  Johnnie  teUs  is  to  this  effect.  Daring  the  first  two 
days  of  their  absence,  the  food  they  had  brought  in  the  basket 
for  their  father^s  dinner  sustained  life ;  but  to-day,  it  seems  that 
little  Johnnie  grew  very  hungry,  and  cried  continually  for  bread. 
William,  the  eldest  boy,  promised  him  bread  if  he  would  try  and 
walk  farther ;  but  his  feet  were  bleeding  and  sore,  and  he  could 
not  walk  another  step.  For  some  time  the  other  little  fellow 
carried  him  upon  his  back ;  but  growing  tired  himself,  he  bade 
Johnnie  sit  down  upon  a  fallen  log,  (the  log  on  which  he  was 
found),  and  not  stir  from  the  place  until  he  came  back.  He  told 
the  child  that  he  would  run  on  until  he  found  a  house,  and  would 
return  as  soon  as  he  oonld,  and  bring  him  something  to  eat.  He 
then  wiped  his  eyes,  and  told  him  not ,  to  cry,  and  not  to  be 
scared,  for  Qod  would  take  care  of  him  till  he  oame  back,  and  ho 
kissed  him  several  times,  and  ran  away.  '*>'' 

"  This  is  all  the  little  fellow  knows  about  his  brother ;  and  it 
is  very  probable  that  the  generous-hearted  boy  has  been  eaten  by 
the  wolves  that  are  very  plenty  in  that  part  of  the  forest  where 
the  child  waa  found.  The  Indians  traced  him  for  more  than  a 
mile  along  the  banks  of  the  cre^,  when  they  lost  his  trail  alto- 
gether. If  he  had  fallen  into  the  water,  it  is  so  shallow,  that 
they  could  scarcely  have  failed  in  discovering  the  body ;  but  they 
think  that  he  has  been  dragged  into  some  hole  in  the  bank  among 
the  tangled  cedars,  and  devoured. 

"  Since  I  have  been  in  the  country,"  continued  Mrs.  H , 

"  I  have  known  many  cases  of  children,  and  even  of  grown  per- 
sons, being  lost  in  the  woods,  who  were  never  heard  of.  again. 
It  is  a  {rightful  calamity  to  happen  to  any  one ;  for  should  they 
escape  from  the  claws  of  wild  animals,  these  dense  forest^  con- 
tain nothing  on  which  life  can  be  supported  for  any  length  of 
time.  The  very  boughs  of  the  ti'ees  are  placed  so  far  from  the 
grounu,  tiiat  nc  child  could  reach  or  climb  to  them ;  and  th^e  is 


Ufll  V^'fUXt  QiBARIMOS. 


m 


80  little  brush  and  small  boshes  amoiig  these  giant  trees^  that  no 
sort  of  Umit  can  be  obtainedt  on  whioh  they  might  subsist  while 
it  remained  in  season.  It  b  only  in  oleaiiDga,  or  where  the  J5re 
has  mn  throngh  the  forest,  that  strawberries  or  raspberries  are 
to  be  foand ;  and  at  this  season  of  the  year,  and  in  the  winter,  a 
strong  man  oonld  not  exist  many  days  in  the  wilderness— let 
alone  a  child. 

"Par^its  cannot  be  too  careful  in  guarding  their  young  folks 
against  rambling  alone  in  the  bush.  Persons,  when  once  they 
get  off  the  beaten  track,  get  frightened  and  bewildered,  and  lose 
all  presence  of  mind ;  and  instead  of  remaining  where  they  are 
when  they  first  discover  their  misfortune— which  is  the  only 
chance  they  have  of  beijog  fonnd— they  plunge  desperately  on, 
running  hither  and  thither,  in  hope  of  getting  out,  while  they 
^  «aly  involve  themselves  more  deeply  among  the  mazes  of  the 
interminable  forest. 

"  Some  winters  ago,  the  daughter  of  a  settler  in  the  rraiote 
township  of  Dummer  (where  my  husband  took  up  his  grant  of 
wild  land,  and  in  which  we  lived  for  two  >ears)  went  with  her 
father  to  the  mil],  which  was  four  miles  from  their  log-shanty, 
and  the  road  lay  entirely  through  the  bush.  For  awhile  the  girl, 
who  was  about  twelve  years  of  age,  kept  up  with  her  &tber,  who 
walked  briskly  ahead  with  his  bag  of  corn  on  his  back ;  for  as 
their  {>ath  lay  through  a  tangled  swamp,  he  was  anxious  to  get 

^  home  before  night.  After  some  time,  Sarah  grew  tired  with 
stepping  up  and  down  over  the  fallen  logs  that  strewed  their 
path,  and  lagged  a  long  way  behind.  The  man  felt  not  the  least 
apprehensive  when  he  lost  sight  of  her,  expecting  that  she  would 

•  soon  come  up  with  him  again.  Once  or  twice  he  stopped  and 
shouted,  and  she  answered,  '•  Ooming,  father  T  and  he  did  not  turn 
to  look  after  her  again.  He  reached  the  mill,  saw  the  grist 
ground,  resumed  his  burden,  and  took  the  road  home,  expecting 
to  meet  Sarah  by  the  way.  He  trode  the  long  path  alone ;  but 
still  he  thought  that  the  girl,  tired  with  her  walk  in  the  woods, 
had  turned  back,  and  he  should  find  her  safe  at  home. 

"  You  may  imagine,  Mrs.  M ,  his  consternation,  and  that 

of  the  family,  when  they  found  that  the  girl  was  lost. 
-"  It  was  now  d«rk.  tmi\  «J1  search  for  her  was  sriven  nn  far 


•p    AVft 


10 


LITB  IN  THE  0LBABIR08. 


that  night  as  hopeless.  By  day-break  the  next  niorning  the 
whole  settlement,  which  was  tiien  confined  to  a  few  lonely  log 
tenements,  inhabited  solely  by  Cornish  miners,  were  ronsed  from 
their  sleep  to  assist  In  the  search. 

"  The  men  turned  ont  with  gnns  and  horns,  and  divided  into 
parties,  that  started  in  different  directions.  Those  who  first  dis- 
covered Sarah  were  to  fire  their  gnns,  which  was  to  be  the  signal 
to  gnide  the  rest  to  the  i^t.  It  was  not  long  before  they  fonnd 
the  object  of  their  search,  seated  under  a  tree  about  half  a  mile 
from  Uie  path  she  had  lost  on  the  preceding  day. 

**  She  had  been  tempted  by  the  beauty  of  some  wild  flowers 
to  leave  the  road ;  and,  when  once  in  the  forest,  she  grew  bewil- 
dered, and  could  not  find  her  way  back.  At  first  she  ran  to  and 
fro,  in  an  agony  of  terroi*,  at  finding  herself  in  the  woods  all  alone, 
and  uttered  loud  and  frantic  cries ;  but  her  father  had  by  this 
time  reached  the  mill,  and  was  out  of  hearing. 

"  With  a  sagacity  beyond  her  years,  and  not  very  common  to 
her  class,  instead  of  wandering  fhrther  into  the  labyrinth  which 
surrounded  her,  she  sat  down  under  a  large  tree,  covered  her 
fitce  with  her  apron,  said  the  Lord's  prayer — ^the  only  one  she 
knew,'and  hoped  that  God  would  send  her  father  back  to  find 
her  the'^oment  he  discovered  that  she  was  lost. 

"When  night  came  down  upon  the  dark  forest,  (and  oh!  bow 
dark  night  is  in  the  woods!)  the  poor  girl  said  she  felt  horri- 
bly afraid  of  being  eaten  by  the  wolves  that  abound  in  those 
dreary  swamps ;  but  she  did  not  cry,  for  fear  they  should  hear 
her.  Simple  girl  I  she  did  not  know  that  the  scent  of  a  wolf  is 
far  keener  than  his  ear :  but  this  was  her  notion,  and  she  lay 
down  close  to  the  ground  and  never  once  uncovered  her  head, 
for  fear  of  seeing  something  dreadful  standing  beside  her ;  until, 
overcome  by  terror  and  fatigue,  she  fell  fiEist  toleep,  and  did  not 
awake  till  roused  by  the  shrill  braying  of  the  horns,  and  the 
shouts  of  the  party  who  were  seeking  her." 

"  What  a  dreadful  situation  I  I  am  sure  that  I  should  not  have 
had  the  courage  of  this  poor  girl,  but  should  have  died  with 
fear." 

"We  don't  know  how  mucn  we  can  bear  till  we  are  trlM.  This 
girl  was  more  fortunate  than  a  1k^  of  the  same  age,  who  was 


^z 


>-• 


^^'* 


Lim   IN  THS   CLEARINGS. 


21t 


lost  in  the  same  townsh^  just  as  the  winter  set  in.  The  lad  was 
oaxt  by  his  fkther,  an  En^fash  settlei*,  in  company  with  two  boys 
of  his  own  age,  the  sons  of  neighbonrs,  to  be  measured  for  a 
pair  of  shoes.  Qeorge  Desne,  who  followed  tile  donUe  oocnpa- 
tlcm  of  ftrmer  and  dioemaker,  lived  about  three  miles  from  the 
dearing  known  as  the  Ei^^iSh  line.  After  the  lads  left  their 
home,  the  road  lay  entirely  throt^h  the  bush.  It  was  a  path 
they  had  often  trayetted,  looih  alone  and  with  their  parents,  and 
they  felt  no  fear.  •     ' 

"  There  had  been  a  sligfat  M  of  snow,  Jnst  enough  to  cover 
the  ground,  and  the  day  was  dear  and  frosty.  The  boys  in  this 
country  always  hail  with  delight  the  first  fall  of  snow;  and  they 
ran  races  and  did  over  all  the  shallow  pools,  until  they  reached 
George  Desne's  cabin.  He  measured  young  Brown  for  a  strong 
pair  of  winter  boots^  and  the  boys  returned  on  their  homeward 
path,  shouting  and  lauding  in  the  glee  of  their  hearts. 

About  half-way  they  suddenly  missed  their  companion,  and 
ran  back  nearly  a  mile  to  find  him ;  not  succeedhig,  they  thought 
that  he  had  hidden  himself  behind  some  of  the  trees,  and,  in 
order  to  frighten  them,  was  pretending  to  be  lost;  and  after 
diouting  his  name  at  the  top  of  their  voices,  and  receiving  uo 
answer,  they  determined  to  defeat  his  trick,  and  ran  home  with- 
out him.  They  knew  he  was  well  acquainted  with  the  road, 
that  it  was  still  broad  day,  and  he  could  easily  find  his  way  home 
alone.  When  his  father  inquired  for  George,  they  said  he  was 
coming,  and  went  to  their  respective  cabins. 

"Night  came  on  and  the  lad  did  not  return,  and  his  parents  be- 
gan to  feel  alarmed  at  his  absence.  Mr.  Brown  went  over  to  the 
neighbouring  settlements,  and  made  the  lads  repeat  to  him  all 
they  knew  about  his  son.  The  boys  described  the  part  of  the 
road  where  they  first  missed  him ;  but  they  had  felt  no  uneasiness 
about  him,  for  they  had  concluded  that  he  had  either  run  home 
before  them,  or  had  gone  back  to  spend  the  night  wifii  the  young 
Desnes,  wha  had  been  very  importunate  for  him  to  stay.  This 
account  pacified  the  anxious  father.  Early  the  next  morning  he 
went  to  Desne's  himself  to  bring  home  the  boy,  but,  to  his 
astonishment  and  grief,  he  had  not  been  there. 
^Eis  mysterious  disappearance  gave  rise  to  a  thousand  strange 

10 


UFX  W  TBB  OLBABIKOB. 


8armjl868.  The  whole  aettlement  tamed  out  in  search  of  the  hoj^ 
Hb  steps  were  traoed  off  the  road  a  few  yards  into  the  bosh,  and 
entirely  disappeared  at  the  foot  of  a  large  oak  tree.  The  tree 
was  lofty,  and  the  branohes  so  &r  from  the  ground,  that  it  was 
almost  impossible  for  any  boy,  nnaseisted,  to  have  raised  himadf 
to  such  a  height  There  was  no  traok  of  any  animal  to  be  seen 
on  the  new  fallen  snow — no  shred  of  garment  or  stain  of  blood. 
That  boy's  fftte  will  always  remain  a  great  mystery,  for  ho  was 
never  fbund." 

"  He  must  have  been  carried  up  the  tre^  by  a  bear,  and  drag- 
ged down  into  the  hollow  trunk,"  said  I. 

"  If  that  had  been  the  case,  there  would  have  been  the  track 
of  the  bear's  feet  in  the  snow.  It  does  not,  however,  fallow 
that  the  boy  is  dead,  though  it  is  more  than  probable.  I  knew 
of  a  case  where  two  boys  and  a  girl  were  sent  into  the  woods  by 
their  mother  to  fetch  home  the  cows.  The  duldren  were  lost. 
The  parents  mourned  tJiem  for  dead,  for  all  search  after  them 
proved  fruitless.  At  length,  after  seven  yeare,  the  eldest  son 
returned.  The  children  had  been  overtaken  and  carried  off  by 
a  party  of  Indians,  who  belonged  to  a  tribe  who  inhabited  the 
islands  in  Lake  Hmron,  and  who  were  out  on  a  hunting  expedi- 
tion. They  took  them  many  hundred  miles  away  from  their 
forest  home,  and  adopted  them  as  their  own.  The  girl,  when 
she  grew  up,  married  one  of  the  tribe;  the  boys  followed  the 
occupation  of  hunters  and  fishers,  and,  from  their  dress  and 
appearance,  might  have  passed  for  aboriisUies  of  the  forest. 


The  oldest  boy,  however,  never  forgot  his  own  name,  or 
the  manner  in  which  he  had  been  separated  from  his  parents. 
Ho  distinctly  remembered  the  township  and  the  natural 
features  of  the  locality,  and  took  the  first  opportunity  of 
making  his  escape,  and  travelling  back  to  the  home  of  his 
childhood. 

*^When  he  made  liimself  known  to  his  mother,  who  was  a 
widow,  but  resided  on  the  same  spot.,  he  was  so  dark  and  Indian- 
like  that  she  could  not  believe  that  it  was  really  her  son,  "until  he 
brought  back  to  her  mind  a  little  incident  that,  forgotten  by  her, 
had  never  left  his  memory. 
^^*'  'Moth^,  don't  you  remember  saying  to  me  os  that  after- 


Un  Uf  TSB  CLUSXKmt, 


s^ 


noon,  Ned,  yon  need  not  look  for  the  oows  in  the  swamp— they 
went  off  towards  the  big  hill  I* 

*^  The  delighted  mother  immediately  oanght  him  to  her  heart, 
exclaiming^  *Toa  say  truly— yon  are  my  own,  my  long-lost 
•on  I'  "* 


THE  CANADIAH  HEAD  BOY. 

"  Throngh  the  deep  woods,  at  peep  of  day, 
The  oarele«8  herd-boy  wenda  his  way, 
By  piny  ridge  and  foreat  atream, 
To  Bununon  boioe  hia  roving  team— 
CoboB !  cobos !  from  distant  dell 
Shy  echo  wafts  the  cattle-bell. 


f 

f 

-A' 


"  A  bli^e  reply  he  whistles  back, 
And  follows  out  the  devious  track, 
0*er  fallen  tree  and  mossy  stone— 
A  path  to  all,  save  him,  unknown. 
Cobos !  cobos  1  far  down  the  dell 
More  faintly  falls  the  cattle-bell. 

"  See  the  dark  swamp  before  him  tiurows 
A  tangled  maze  of  cedar  boughs ; 
On  all  around  deep  silence  broods. 
In  nature's  boundless  solitudes. 
Cobos  I  cobos !  the  breezes  swell. 
As  nearer  floats  the  cattle-bdl. 


>4-    aA'AW- 


"  He  sees  thom  now^-beneath  yon  trees 
His  motley  herd  recline  at  ease }  . 

With  lazy  pace  and  sullen  stare, 
They  slowly  leave  their  shady  lair. 
Cobos  !  cobos ! — ^far  up  the  dell 
Quick  jingling  comes  the  cattle-bell ! 

*  This,  and  the  two  preceding  chapters,  were  written  iot  "B.oughing 
it  in  ^e  Bush,"  and  were  sent  to  England  to  make  a  part  of  that  worl^ 
but  came  too  late  for  insertion,  which  will  account  to  the  reader  for 


Olf^MIl 


iCH«UWO  U«tO. 


-.. gjf" - ' -^^t^flA Ff97  "r^'f ^>!--f » .  ^„K^'^ *^*t-  -|iHT('^w^  ■ 


no 


ufi  IV  nu  •uBABnraik 


K 


OKAFTKR  XIV. 

♦ 

'*  Viotidn,  howeTer  wild  and  faneinil, 
T»  .nt  the  copy  memorj  draws  ft:«m  trath. 
Tls  not  in  homan  gvniaa  to  er«at« : 
Tha  mind  ia  bat »  mirror  that  retat ta 
Beauties  thai  are,  or  the  dim  ihadowi 
Left  bjr  the  past  tq>oo  its  i^acM  BarfiM«k 
lteo«lla«  again  to  lift.** 

Thk  glow  of  early  &y  -vr&s  brigfatentng  in  the  east,  as  the 
steamer  approached  Toronto.  We  rounded  the  poiot  of  the 
interminable,  flat,  swampy  island,  that  stretches  for  several  miles 
in  front  of  the  city,  and  which  is  thinly  coyered  with  scrubby- 
looking  trees.  The  land  lies  so  level  with  the  water,  that  it  has 
the  appearance  of  being  half-submerged,  and  from  a  distance  you 
only  see  the  tops  of  the  trees.  I  have  been  informed  that  the 
name  of  Toronto  has  been  derived  from  this  circumstance,  which 
in  Indian  literally  means,  "  Tre^  in  the  uaier.''* 

If  the  island  rather  takes  from,  than  adds  to^  the  beauty  of 
the  place,  it  is  not  without  great  practical  advantages,  as  to  it 
the  city  is  mainly  indebted  for  its  sheltered  and  v«ry  commodious 
harbour."  4, 

After  entering  the  harbour,  Toronto  presents  a  long  line  of 
frontage,  covered  with  handsome  buildings  to  the  eye.  A  grey 
mist  still  hovered  over  its  many  domes  and  spires ;  but  the  new 
University  and  the  Lunatic  Asylum  stood  out  in  bold  relief,  aa 
they  caught  the  broad  red  gleam  of  the  coming  day. 

It  was  my  first  visit  to  the  metropolitan  city  of  the  upper  pro- 
^fince,  and  with  no  small  degree  of  interest  I  examined  its  gen- 
eral aspect  as  we  approached  the  wharf.  It  does  not  present 
such  an  imposing  appearance  from  the  water  as  Eingston,  but  it 
strikes  you  instantly  as  a  place  of  far  greater  magnitude  and 
importance.  There  is  afresh,  growing,  healthy  vitality  about 
this  place,  that  cannot  fail  to  impress  a  stranger  very  forcibly  the 
Ami  time  he  enters  it.  He  feels  instinctively  that  he  sees  b^ore 
him  the  s^ng  throbbing  heart  of  this  ^gantio  yonog  country, 
and  that  every  powerful  vibration  from  this  ever  intareasing  oen- 


^■*,.>V; 


iV-% 


uwn  m  tm  otKARiyos. 


tre  of  wealth  and  oivilisatioDf  infuses  life  and  vigour  tbroaa^h  Htv 
whole  Iragth  and  breadth  of  the  province. 

Toronto  exceeded  the  most  sanguine  expectations  that  I  had 
formed  of  it  at  a  distance,  and  oiahled  me  to  realise  distinctly 
the  rising  greatness  and  rapid  improvement  of  the  oolony.  It  is 
only  here  that  you  can  fbrm  any  just  estimate  of  what  i^e  now 
is,  and  what  at  no  very  distant  period  she  must  be. 

The  country,  for  some  miles  round  the  dty,  appears  to  the  eye 
as  flat  as  a  floor;  the  rise,  though  very  gradual,  is,  I  am  told,  oon- 
siderable ;  and  the  land  is  sufficiently  elevated  above  the  lake  to 
escape  the  disagreeaUe  character  of  being  low  and  swampy. 
Anything  in  the  shape  of  a  slope  or  hill  is  not  distinguishable  in 
the  present  area  on  whieh  Twonto  is  built;  but  the  streets  are 
wide  and  clean,  and  oontidn  many  handsome  public  buildings; 
and  the  beautiful  trees  which  everywhere  abound  in  the  neat, 
well'kept  gardens,  that  surround  the  dwellings  of  the  wealthier 
inhabitants,  with  the  broad,  bright,  blue  inland  sea  that  tomm 
the  foreground  to  the  picture,  give  to  it  such  a  lively  and  agree- 
able character,  that  It  takes  from  it  all  appearance  of  tameness 
and  monotony. 

The  wharves,  with  whidi  our  first  practical  acquaintance  with 
the  city  commenced,  are  very  narrow  and  incommodions.  They 
are  built  on  piles  of  wood,  nmning  out  to  some  distance  in  the 
water,  and  covered  with  rotten,  black-looking  boards.  As  far  as 
comfort  and  convenience  go,  they  are  far  inferior  to  those  of 
Oobourg  and  Kingston,  or  even  to  those  of  our  own  dear  little 
*^  Citjf  of  the  JBay,,''^  as  Belleville  has  not  inaptly  been  christened 
by  the  strange  madcap,  calling  himself  the  ""  Great  Orator  of  tM 
F<»«."  ^ 

It  is  devoutly  to  be  hoped  that  a  faw  years  will  sweep  all  these 
decayed  old  wharfs  into  the  Ontario,  and  that  mwe  substantial 
ones,  buUt  of  stone,  will  be  erected  in  their  place^  Rome,  how- 
ever, was  not  built  in  a  day ;  and  the  magic  growth  of  this  city 
of  the  W^t  is  almost  as  miraculous  as  that  of  Jonah^s  oelelnratedt 
gourd. 

The  steamboat  had  scarcely  been  secured  to  her  wharf  before 
we  were  aarrouiided  by  a  host  of  cabmen,  who  rushed  on  board. 


■  **>*;■  l^y^fe^T^i^K  7  ■^'^W'r^^ 


!^^^- 


223 


Un  IN  TBI  OUBARIWOB. 


fighting  and  fM^nabbllng  with  eaoh  other,  in  order  to  seonre  the 
firet  chance  of  passengers  and  their  luggage.  The  hnhbtib  in 
front  of  the  ladies'  cabin  grew  to  a  perfect  nproar ;  and,  as  most 
of  the  gentlemen  were  still  in  the  arms  of  Horphens,  these  noisy 
Mercuries  had  it  all  their  own  way — swearing  and  shouting  at  the 
top  of  their  yoioes,  in  a  manner  that  rivalled  civilized  Enrope.  I 
was  perfectly  astonished  at  their  volubility,  and  the  pertinacity 
of  their  attentions,  which  were  poured  forth  in  the  true  Milesian 
fashion — an  odd  mixture  of  blarney,  self-interest,  and  audacity. 
At  Kingston  these  gentry  are  far  more  civil  and  less  importunate, 
and  we  witnessed  none  of  this  disgraoeM  annoyance  at  any  other 
port  on  the  lake.  One  of  these  Padres,  in  his  hurry  to  secure 
.the'  persons  and  luggage  of  several  ladies,  who  had  been  my 
fellow-passengers  in  the  cabin,  nearly  backed  his  crazy  old  vehicle 
over  the  unguarded  wooden  wharf  into  the  lake. 

We  got  safely  stowed  at  last  into  one  of  these  machines,  which, 
internally,  are  not  destitute  of  either  comfort  or  convenience ; 
and  driving  through  some  of  the  principle  avenues  of  the  city, 
were  safely  deposited  at  the  door  of  a  dear  friend,  who  had  come 
on  board  to  conduct  us  to  his  hospitable  home ;  and  hero  I  found 
the  rest  and  quiet  so  much  needed  by  an  invalid  after  \  ''.ong  and 
fatiguing  journey. 

It  was  some  days  before  I  was  sufficiently  recovered  to  visit 
any  of  the  lions  of  the  place.  With  a  minute  description  of  these 
I  shall  not  trouble  my  readers.  My  book  is  written  more  with  a 
view  to  convey  general  impressions,  than  to  delineate  separate 
features, — to  while  away  the  languid  heat  of  a  summer  day,  or 
the  dreary  dnlness  of  a  wet  one.  The  intending  emigrant,  who 
is  anxious  for  commercial  calculations  and  statistical  details,  will 
find  all  that  he  con  require  on  this  head  in  "  Scobie's  Almanac," 
and  Smith's  "Past,  Present,  and  Future  of  Canada," — ^works 
written  expressly  for  that  purpose. 

Women  make  good  use  of  their  eyes  and  ears,  and  paint  scenes 
that  amuse  or  strike  their  fancy  with  tolerable  accuracy ;  but  it 
requires  the  strong-thinking  heart  of  man  to  anticipate  events, 
and  trace  certain  results  from  partioolar  causes.  Women  are  out 
of  their  element  when  they  attempt  to  speculate  upon  these 


•■^■i^^sm^ 


LIFB  IN  THB  CLBAMlfOB. 


238 


abatnue  matters— u-e  apt  to  inolino  too  strongly  to  their  own 
opinions — and  jump  at  conolasions  whiok  aro  either  finlse  or 
QDsatis&otory. 

My  first  visit  wos  to  King'Street,  which  may  be  oonsidlured  as 
the  Begent-atreet  of  Toronto.  It  is  the  great  central  avenue  of 
commerce,  and  contains  many  fine  buildings,  and  handsome 
capacious  stores,  while  a  number  of  new  ones  are  in  a  state  of 
progress.  This  fine,  broad,  airy  thoroughiiEiro,  would  be  an  oma* 
ment  to  any  town  or  dty,  and  the  bnsUe.  and  trafEio  through  it 
give  to  strangers  a  tolerably  Just  idea  of  the  wealth  and  industry 
of  the  community.  All  the  streets  terminate  at  the  water*s  edge, 
but  Front-street,  which  runs  parallel  with  it,  and  may  be  termed 
the  "  west  end"  of  Toronto ;  for  most  of  the  wealthy  residents 
have  handsome  houses  and  gardens  in  this  street,  which  is  open 
through  the  whole  length  of  it  to  the  lake.  The  raikoad  is 
upon  the  edge  of  the  water  along  this  natural  terrace.  The 
situation  is  uncommonly  lively,  as  it  commands  a  fine  view  of  the 
harbour,  and  vessds  and  steamboats  are  passing  to  and  fro  «on> 
tinuolly. 

The  St.  Lawrence  market,  which  is  near  the  bottom  of  King- 
street,  is  a  handsome,  commodious  building,  and  capitally  sup- 
plied with  all  the  creature-comforts — ^fish,  flesh,  and  fowl — ^besides 
abundance  of  excellent  fruits  and  vegetables,  which  can  be  pro- 
cured at  very  reasonable  prices.  The  town-hdl  is  over  the 
morket-plooe,  and  I  am  told-— for  I  did  not  visit  it — that  it  is  a 
noble  room,  capable  of  accommodating  a  large  number  of  people 
with  ease  and  comfort. 

!  Toronto  is  very  rich  in  handsome  churches,  which  form  one 
of  its  chief  attractions.  I  was  greatly  struck  with  the  elegant 
spire  of  Kox's  church,  which  is  perhaps  the  most  graceful  in  the 
city.  The  body  of  the  church,  however,  seems  rather  too  short, 
and  out  of  proportion,  for  the  tall  slender  tower,  which  would 
have  appeared  to  much  greater  advantage  attached  to  a  building 
double  the  length. 

Nothing  attracted  my  attention,  or  interested  me  more,  than 
the  handsome,  well-supplied  book  stores.  Those  of  Armour, 
Scobie,  and  Maclean,  are  equal  to  many  in  London  in  appearance, 


.':^! 


Lira   IW  THI  OLSARIWGS. 


and  far  mperior  to  those  that  w«n  to  b«  found  in  N«rwl«h  And 
Iptwioh  thirty  years  ago. 

This  speaks  well  for  the  mental  improvement  of  Canada,  and  »> 
Is  a  proof  that  peqtle  have  mor«  l^oro  for  aoqniring  book  loref 
-and  m<Mre  money  tw  the  porohase  of  bo<^  than  the^  had  some 
years  ago.    The  fUrwAm  of  tiie  Amerioans  have  realized  the  dd 
proverb,  "That  'tis  an  iH  wind  thai  blows  nobody  any  good." 
Inoalonlable  are  the  benefits  that  Canada  derives  fh>m  her  cheap 
reprints  of  all  the  Enfopean  standard  works,  which,  on  good  ^ 
paper  and  in  handsome  bindings,  can  be  bought  at  a  quarter  tiie  f 
price  of  the  English  editions.    This  oircnmstanoe  mnst  olwayt; 
mako  the  Canadas  a  bad  market  for  English  pnblipationa.    Moal ;, 
of  these,  it  is  true,  can  be  proeured  by  wealthy  individoals  at  tha !" 
book  stores  menti(med  above,  bnt  the  American  reprints  <^  tiie 
same  works  aboand  a  hondred-fuld. 

Novels  form  ike  most  attractive  species  ci  reading  bore  for  the  *» 
young ;  and  the  best  of  these,  in  pfonphlet  form,  may  be  proomred  ■ 
from  twenty-five  to  fif|y  cents.    And  h^re  I  mnst  didm  the  prl«  t 
viloge  of  speaking  a  few  words  in  defence  of  both  novel  read»»< 
and  novel  writers,  in  spite  of  the  horror  which  I  fancy  I  see  de- 
picted  on  many  a  grave  countenance. 

There  ore  many  good  and  conscientious  persons  who  regard  t^ 
novels  and  novel  writers  with  devout  horror, — ^who  condemns 
their  works,  however  moriJ  in  th^  tendency,  as  unfit  for  the 
perusal  of  responsible  and  intelligent  creatures, — ^who  will  not 
admit  into  their  libraries  any  books  but  such  as  treat  of  reli^ous, 
historical,  or  scientific  subjects,  imagining,  and  we  think  very 
erroneonsl}',  that  all  works  of  fiction  have  a  demoralizing  effect, 
and  tend  to  weaken  tlie  judgment,  and  enervate  the  mind. 

We  will,  however,  allow  that  there  is  both  truth  and  80>und 
sense  in  some  of  these  objections ;  that  if  a  young  person's  read- 
ing is  entirely  confined  to  this  class  of  literature,  and  that  of  aii^^ 
inferior  sort,  a  great  deal  of  harm  may  be  the  result,  as  many  <^ 
these  works  are  apt  to  convey  to  them  false  and  ezi^gerated  pic- 
tures of  life.  Such  a  course  of  reading  would  product)  the  same 
effect  upon  the  mind  as  a  constant  diet  of  sweetmeats  would 
upon  th(»  stomach ;  it  would  destroy  the  digestion,  fmd  induce  a 


■  VA^O.^V^A'. 


\ 


um  m 


at5 


finite  thb  mind  maifM  raorMitoa  m  wttt  m  th«  body,  and 
Qianot  alwajt  b«  eni^Bftd  upon  terkMS  ilndiM  witiiovt  i/ajtary  to 
tlM  bmlB,  and  the  disarrangemrat  of  aosM  of  tho  moat  important 
oifaoa  of  tha  body.  Now,  wa  think  it  ooold  ba  latiafliotorily 
prorad,  in  apita  of  tba  atarn  ervaada  parpatnaUy  wagad  against 
worica  of  fioioBk  bj  *  iarga  porfeioB  of  writ-aiaaidBg  paopla,  that 
msoh  good  hm  h&m  dam  lb  tha  world  Uiroagh  Ihair  faMtnmiant- 
atttj. 

Moat  norala  and  Tnwianfiia,  particalarlj  tiMiaa  af  tha  modon 
aofaoolf  are  Ibandad  apon  real  ineidantay  and,  Uka  tiia  baat  haada 
in  tba  artiat's  piotnra,  tha  oharaoter*  ara  drawn  from  life  \  and 
the  closer  the  drawiqg  or  story  approximataa  to  natnre,  the  inoro 
intarastbig  and  popalar  wiU  it  baaoma.  Though  a  yast  number 
of  thaaa  works  ara  daily  po  ving  from  tha  Britiah  and  Ameriaan 
press,  it  is  only  thoaa  of  a  very  hi^  elaaa  that  ara  generally  read 
and  beoome  as  £uniliar  aa  honaahold  woffda.  Tha  tastea  of-ViB^ 
Tidnala  dMRnr  widely  on  artiolaa  of  drsaa,  fbod,  and  amnaement ; 
bat  there  ia  a  wondarM  affinity  in  the  rainda  of  mtiOy  as  regardi^ 
worka  of  hteratare.  A  book  tha*  appeab  strongly  to  tha  paa- 
siona,  if  tma  to  natore,  will  strike  neoriy  all  idike,  and  obtain  a 
world-wide  popularity,  while  the  mmre  fiotion  nnka  back  into 
obaeority — ^is  (mce  read  and  forgotten. 

The  works  of  Smollett  and  Fielding  were  admirable  pietnrea 
of  society  as  it  eziated  in  their  day ;  but  we  liye  in  a  more  refined 
age,  and  few  yoang  people  woidd  feel  any  pleasure  in  the  coarse 
piotarea  ezhiiiated  in  those  onee  o^ebrated  worka.  The  novels 
of  Biohardson,  recommended  by  grave  divines  from  the  pulpit  as 
perfect  models  of  purity  and  virtue,  would  now  be  cast  aside 
with  indifference  and  disgust.  They  were  considered  quite  the 
reverse  in  the  age  he  wrote,  and  he  was  regarded  as  one  of  the 
great  reformers  of  t^e  vices  of  his  time.  We  may  therefore 
conclude,  that,  although  repugnant  to  our  taste  and  feelings,  they 
were  the  means  of  effecting  much  good  in  a  gross  and  licentious 
age. 

In  the  writings  of  our  great  modem  novelists,  virtue  ia  never 
debased,  nor  vice  exalted;  but  there  is  a  constant  endeavour  to 
impress  upon  the  mind  of  the  reader  the  true  wisdom  of  the  one 

*lld  th«  foUv  of  ihts  nihetv  r   and  "whftrA  th«  authOF  fl^la  *a  nrM*a 

10* 


'■•X 


\ 


23<l 


LIM  IK  TfflB  OUEAIUVOt. 


.V 


"*%" 


an  interest  in  the  fate  of  his  hero  or  heroine,  it  is  nol  beerase  '' 
they  are  bad  or  immoral  oharaoters,  like  Lovelace  in  Clarissa- 

Harlowe,  and  Lord  B in  Pamela,  but  that  like  Sir  Charles 

Grandison,  they  are  too  good  for  reality,  and  their  very  fknltless- 
ness  renders  them,  like  the  said  8ir  Charles,  afiOioted  and  nnna^ 
tural.  Where  high  moral  exoeHenoe  is  represented  as  strag^ng 
^th  the  fimtts  and  fellies  oommon  to  homaaity,  sometimea  yield- 
iog  to  temptation,  and  reaping  the  bitter  fhdts,  and  at  other 
times  snocessftdly  resistiii^  the  allorraaents  of  vice,  all  onr  sym- 
pathies are  engaged  in  the  contest ;  it  becomes  onr  own,  and  Wo 
follow  the  hero  through  all  his  trials,  weep  over  his  &U,  or 
trinmph  in  his  sneoess.  ^ 

Ohildroi,  who  possess  an  mnophistioated  judgment  in  these 
matters,  seldom  feel  mnch  interest  in  the  modd  boy  of  a  moral 
story  ]  not  from  any  innate  depravity  of  mind,  which  leads  them 
to  prefer  vice  to  virtue,  for  no  sueh  preference  ean  exist  in  the 
hnnuoi  Iweast, — no,  not  even  in  the  perverted  hearts  of  the  woi«t 
^  of  men — but  because  the  model  boy  ie  like  no  otlMr  boy  of  their 
^    acquaintance.    He  does  not  resemble  them,  fw  he  is  a  piece  of 
unnatural  perfection.    He  neither  fights,  nor  cries,  n(Kr  wishes  to 
t^   play  when  he  (Might  to  be  bnsy  with  his  lessons ;  he  lectures  like 
V     a  parson,  and  talks  like  a  book.    His  face  is  never  dirty ;  he  never 
tears  his  dothes,  nor  soils  his  hands  wi»h  making  dirt  -pies,  or 
puddling  in  the  mud.    His  hair  is  alwayt.  smooth,  his  faoe  always 
wears  a  smile,  and  he  was  never  known  to  salk,  or  say  /  won't  I 
The  boy  is  a  perfect  stranger — ^they  can't  recognise  his  likeness, 
or  follow  his  example — and  why  f  because  both  are  unnatural 
caricatures. 

Bat  be  sure,  that  if  the  naughty  boy  of  the  said  tale  creates 
the  most  interest  for  his  fate  in  the  mind  of  the  youthM  reader, 
it  is  simply  because  he  is  drawn  with  more  truthfulness  than  the 
character  that  was  intended  for  his  counterpart.  The  language 
of  passion  is  always  eloquent,  and  the  bad  boy  is  delineated  true 
to  his  bad  nature,  and  is  made  to  speak  and  act  naturally,  which 
never  fails  to  awaken  a  touch  of  sympathy  in  beings  equally 
^  prone  to  err.  I  again  repeat  that  few  minds  (if  any)  exist  that 
can  find  beaniy  in  deformity^  or  aught  to  admire  in  the  hideous- 
nesiofvice.  i 


UFS  XM  THB  OLEAiaN€Mi. 


There  are  many  pera(»ui  in  the  w(»ld  who  oannot  bear  to 
receive  insfcmotioJi  when  conveyed  to  them  in  a  Berions  form^ 
who  ^rink  with  loathing  from  the  cant  with  which  too  many 
religions  novels  are  loaded ;  and  who  yet  mi^t  be  indnced  to 
llstoa  to  precepts  of  religion  and  morality,  when  arrayed  in  a. 
more  amnsing  and  attractive  garb,  and  Miforeed  by  characters 
who  speak  and  fiael  like  tiiemselves,  and  share  in  all  things  a 
o(Hnmon  humanity. 

Some  of  onr  admirable  modem  works  of  fiction,  or  rather 
troths  disguised,  in  order  to  make  them  more  palatable  to  the 
generality  of  readers,  have  done  more  to  ameUorato  the  sorrows 
of  mankind,  by  drawing  the  attention  of  the  public  to  the  wants 
aad  woes  of  the  lower  classes,  than  all  the  charity  sermons  that 
have  been  delivered  from  the  pulpit. 

Yes,  the  desiMsed  and  reprobated  novelist,  by  daring  to  unveil 
the  crimes  and  miseries  of  neglected  and  ignorant  men,  and  to 
point  oat  the  abuses  which  have  produced,  oud  are  still  producing, 
the  same  dreadful  results,  are  missionaries  in  the  cause  of  humanity, 
the  real  Mends  and  benefiictors  of  mankind. 
.The  selfish  worldling  may  denounce  as  infiunous  and  immoral, 
the  heart-ronding  pictures  of  human  suffering  and  degradation 
that  the  writings  of  Dickens  and  Sue  have  presented  to  their 
gaze,  and  declare  that  they  are  unfit  to  meet  the  eyes  of  the  vir- 
tuous and  refined — that  no  good  can  arise  flrom  the  publication 
of  such  revolting  details — and  that  to  be  ignorant  of  the  exis- 
tence of  such  horrors  is  in  itself  a  species  of  virtue. 

Daughter  of  wealth,  daintily  nurtured,  and  nicely  educated, 
Is  hUndness  nature  t  Does  your  superiority  over  these  £Edlen 
creatures  spring  from  any  innate  principle  in  your  own  breast, 
which  renders  yon  more  worthy  of  the  a^niration  and  esteem 
of  your  fellow-creatures  ?  Are  not  you  indebted  to  the  oircum* ' 
stances  in  which  you  are  placed,  and  to  that  moral  education,  foip^; 
every  virtue  that  you  possess? 

You  can  feel  no  pity  for  the  murderer,  the  thief,  the  prostitute. 
Such  people  may  aptiy  be  termed  the  wild  beasts  of  society,  and, 
like  wild  beasts,  should  be  hunted  down  and  killed,  in  order  io 
secure  the  peace  imd  comfort  of  the  rest.  Well,  the  law  has  been 
doing  this  for  many  ages,  and  yet  the  wild  beasts  stiU  .ndst  m' 


r.'i: 


■*  ^'^ 


UWm  IN  TBB  OLBAMHOa. 


,1 


piey  upon  ihefa*  neig^bonn.  And  siiih  will  still  eontinne  to  be 
t^e  oAse  until  Ohristianity,  following  the  example  of  her  bkased 
Foandeff  goes  forth  into  the  wilderness  of  life  on  her  errand  of 
meroy^  not  to  condemn)  but  to  aotk  and  to  save  th§t  which  is 
lost 

The  ocAventioiial  rales  of  sodety  have  formed  a  hedge  about 
yon,  whi(&  renders  wiy  flagrant  breach  of  morality  very  ^ffioult, 
— in  some  cases  almost  imposuble.  From  in£uu^  the  dread 
oommandmantfi  have  been  sounding  in  yonr  ears, — **  Thou  shalt 
not  kill  I  Thou  shalt  not  steal !  Thon  shalt  not  commit  adul- 
tery 1"-— and  the  awful  mandate  has  been  strengthened  by  the 
admonitions  of  jhous  parents  and  good  ministers,  all  anxious  for 
your  eternal  weUishre.  Ton  may  well  be  honest ;  for  all  your 
wants  have  been  supplied,  and  you  have  yet  to  learn  that  where 
no  temptati(Hi  exists,  virtue  itself  becomes  a  negative  quality. 
Tou  do  not  covet  the  goods  which  others  possess.  You  have 
never  looked  down,  with  conftuuon  of  &ce  and  heartfelt  bitter- 
ness, cm  the  dirty  rags  that  scarcely  suffice  to  conceal  the  emadar 
lion  of  your  wasted  HmlMb  Tou  have  never  felt  hunger  gnawing 
at  yonr  vitals,  or  shuddered  at  the  <»ies  of  fttmishing  children, 
sobbing  around  your  knees  for  bread.  Tou  have  dainties  to 
satiety  every  day,  and  know  nothing  of  the  agonies  of  sacrificing 
your  virtue  for  the  sake  of  a  meal.  If  you  are  cold,  you  have  a 
good  fire  to  warm  you,  a  comfortable  mansion  to  protect  you 
from  the  inclemency  of  the  weather,  and  garments  suitable  to 
every  season  of  the  year.  How  can  you  be  expected  to  sympa- 
thize with  the  ragged,  houseless  children  of  want  and  in&my  1 

Tou  cannot  bear  to  have  these  sad  realities  presented  to  your 
notice.  It  shocks  your  nerves.  Tou  cannot  bring  yourself  to 
admit  that  these  outcasts  of  society  are  composed  of  the  same 
day;  and  you  bkme  the  authors  who  have  dared  to  run  a  tilt 
against  yonr  prejudices,  and  have  not  only  attested  the  unwel- 
come fiict,  but  have  pointed  out  the  causes  which  lead  to  the 
hopeless  degradation  and  depravity  of  these  miserable  fdlow- 
creatnres.  Tou  cannot  read  the  works  of  these  humane  men, 
because  they  bid  you  to  step  with  them  into  these  dirty  abodes 
of  gaik  and  wretoheduesB,  mid  see  what  crime  really  is,  and  all 
the  hcHTors  that  ignorance  and  poverty,  and  a  want  pf  S6lf-res|>ect, 


uni  nr  vbk  OLKAitnrM^ 


never  ML  to  bring  ftbont.  Ton  eMUot  enter  hit»  ^leee  ftbodee 
of  yoar  neglected  and  starving  broUiere  and  risten  — tbeie  fcfit^ 
lorn  scions  of  a  oinnmon  sto^ — and  view  their  eold  hearths  and 
anAwnished  tables,  their  beds  of  straw  and  tattorad  garments, 
without  defilement— or  witness  their  days  €i  unremitting  toil, 
and  nights  of  nm^t;  and  worse,  tut  wcnrse,  to  b^old'  the  evil 
passions  and  crimes  which  sprbg  from  a  state  of  ign<H'ance,  pro- 
ducing a  moral  darkness  that  c£m  be  ftbU. 

Ton  are  insulted  and  offended  at  behig  seen  in  mctk  bad  com- 
pany ;  and  cannot  for  a  moment  imagine  that  a  change  in  yonr 
relative  positicms  might  have  rendered  yon  no  wiser  or  better 
than  them.  But,  lei  me  ask  yon  cuididly,  hm  net  the  terrible 
scene  produced  some  eii^ot?  Oan  yon  forget  its  ezistenoe, — its 
shocking  reality  t  The  lenon  it  teaches  may  be  dietastefnl,  but 
yon  cannot  shi^  off  a  knowledge  of  its  maUuuAoly  fhots.  The 
voice  of  conscience  qteidcs  andibty  to  yeur  heart  ;-*4hat  s^ 
small  voice— 4hat  awM  reocwd  of  hims^  that€k>d  has  i4a«ed  in 
every  breast  (and  woe  be  to  you,  or  any  oas^  when  ii  eeases  to 
be  heard!) — ^tells  you  that  yon  cannot,  without  violating  the 
divine  mandate,  ^lowtky  neighbout  «•  tAjfid/,''*  leave  these 
miserable  creatures  to  languish  and  die,  wiUiont  maldng  one 
^ort  to  aid  in  rescuing  them  from  their  melancholy  file. 

^^But  what  can  I  dot"  I  hear  yon  indignantly  eixolaim. 

Much;  oh,  how  much!  Ton  have  wealth,  a  small  part 
of  which  cannot  be  better  bestowed  than  in  educating  these  poor 
creatures ;  in  teaching  them  to  recognize  those  divine  laws  which 
tUey  have  broken ;  in  leading  them  step  by  step  into  tiiose  paths 
of  piety  and  peace  they  have  never  known.  Ignorance  has  been 
the  most  powerful  agent  in  corrupting  these  perbhing  criminals. 
Give  them  healthful  employment,  the  means  of  emigrating  to 
countries  whwe  labour  is  amply  remnnerated,  and  will  secure  for 
them  comfort,  independence,  and  self-respect.  In  Canada,  these 
victims  of  over-population  prove  beneficial  members  of  soci^y, 
while  with  yon  they  are  regarded  as  a  blight  and  a  curse. 

Numbers  of  this  dass  are  yearly  cast  upon  these  shores,  yet 
the  crimes  which  are  commonly  committed  by  their  instrument- 
^ty  in  Britein j  vei?y  rarely  c<K!ur  with  us.    We  could  not  sle^ 


230 


Un  m  TBB  OUSABIHOSt 


Tdtb  imfiuit(UiAddooaiaiid  windows  near  poptdcms  towns^if  the 
ohaoge  in  their  oondkion  did  not  bring  aboat  a  greater  mond 
diAnge  in  the  diaraoter  <ti  these  poor  emigrontB. 

They  .readUj  gito  em^qgrment ;  ^ir  toils  u*e  amply  rennine- 
n^ed;  and  they  cease  to  comimit  orime  to  procurer  precarions 
exbtenee.  Ia  the  vwy  worst  o£  these  people  some  good  exists. 
A  few  seedsfemfm  of  di?ine  pWong,  whid^  if  fostered  and 
jodioionsfy  trained,  miglxl;  yet  bear  firoit  fbr  heAT^Qu 
i;  jrhe^aiathei«,  n^tose  worla  you  eaU  dilgneting  ai^  iptmorftl, 
point  ^t  tlhi%  and  a&rd  yon  the  mosi  pathetic  ilkstratioira  of 
ita  troth.  Yon  necid  not  fear  (Kmtaminfltiwi  from  the  i^oes 
whieh  they  ptHiiay.  .  Sheir  dq»ayity  is  of  too  black  a  hne  to 
haye  the  least  attraction,  »ven  to  b^iig»  ^Mily  reBiovf4  a  few 
degrees  t^om  the  same  gi^t.  Vice  may  have  her  a^irers 
when  she  |^ttM»  in  gold  and  sew^i;  Imt  when  exposed  in  filth 
and  nakediMSs,  her  most  reckless  devotees  shrink  back  from  her 
in  ^fgnot  and  h(»ror..  Vice,  withont  her  waak,  is  a  i^ectaele 
too  i^ppalliDg  $x  hnmamfyf  it  exhibits  the  hideonaiesB,  and 
breathes  of  th&c(«rapti<»i  ^  hell. 

If  these  reprobated  woiks  of  fix^<Hi  can  Martl#  tiie^rich  into  a 
painf  td  consoionsness  of  the  wants  and  ag<Miie8  oi  the  poor,  and 
make  them,. pi  i^ite  of  all  the  conventicmd  laws  of  society, 
acknowledge  their  kindred  homanily,  who  shall  say  tiiat>  their 
books  have  beoQ.  written  in  vain  ?  P 

fV>r  my  own  part,  I  loc^npon  Uiese  authors  as  heaven-inspired 
teachers, -who  have  been  CMumisnoned  by  the  great  Father  of 
sonls  to  proclaim  to  the  wwld  the  wrongs  and  enfferiags  of 
millions  of  his  oreatnres,  to  plead  their  cause  with  unflinching 
int^rity,  and,  with  almost  superhuman  doquenee,  demand  for 
them  the  justice  wbkh  the  world  has  so  long  denied.  These 
men  are  the  b^^u^tors  of  their  species,  to  whom  the  whole 
human  race  owe  a  vast  debt  of  gratitudcr^  -^ 
{  Since  the  publication  of  Oliver  Twist,  and  many  other  works 
of  the  same  class,  inquiries  have  been  made  by  thinking  and 
benevolent  individnids  into  the  condition  of  the  destitute  poor  in 
great  citios  and  mann&otunng^  districts.  These  werks  brought 
to  liicht  deeds  of  darkness^  and  scenes  of  oDnression  and  <^neltv. 


Uf»  Ui  TUB  CUAUKCMk. 


7»l 


Boavoalj  lo  be  flncUted  in  modem  times  sad  ia  Ohrbtiui  omn-' 
mmiiliea.  Tbe  ettenfcion  of  the  piiblio  w«e  direetecl  towards  thi8< 
miserable  daasof  beiugs,  and  its  best  qfrnpatbies  enlisted  in  tlieir 
behall'.  It  wss^caUed  upon  to  assbt  ia  tiie  Ubention  of  these 
uikite  jlees..,  ithained  to  the  oar  for  life  in  the  galleys  of  wealth, 
and  to  reeognize  them  aa  men  and  brethren,  n 

^  Then  sprang  op  the  ragged  sebools,—- the  institotions  for 
reclaiming  the  yonthM  vagrai^  of  London,  and  teaching  the 
idle  and  profligiile  the  sablime  moralitf  of  sobriety  and  industry. 

Personf  ^ho  were  unable  to  oontribnte  money  to  tiiese  truly 
noble  olyeets  of  charity,  were  ready  to  assist^io  the  capacity  of 
SondayHMhool  taachers,-  and  add  their  mite  in  the  great  work  of 
moral  refbmu  in  oyer-peo^ed  oonntries  like  England  and 
i^AQoOr  the  evil^arising  ont  of  exteeme  poverty  could  not  be 
ee«ly  remedied;  yet  the  help  thus  aff(»ded  by  tiie  rieh,  contri- 
tHited  greatly  in  ameliorating  the  distrees  of  thousands  of  the 
pooxttt  classes.  Ta  the  same  sonroe  we  may  trace  the  mitigation 
of  many  severe  JawB«  Xhe  pnmshment  of  death  is  no  looger 
enforced,  but  in  oases  of  great  depravity.  Mevoy  has  stepped  in, 
and  wiped  the  Uood  from  the  sword  of  Justice. 

Boodle  "Song  <tf  the  Shirt"  produced  an  almost  electric  effect 
upon  the  pubEo  mind.  Jt  was  a  bold,  tr^bhfiil  appeal  to  the 
best  feelings  of  humanity,  and  ^  found  a  reqxmse  in  every  feel- 
ing heart.  It  laid  bare  the  distress  of  a  most  deserving  and 
oppressed  p<»rtion  of  the  female  operatives  in  London;  and  the 
good  it  did  is  at  this  moment  in  active  operation.  Witness  the 
hundreds  of  work-women  landed  within  the  last  twelve  montlis 
on  these  shores,  who  immediatdiy  found  liberal  employment. 

God's  blessing  upon  thee,  Thomas  Hoodl  The  effect  produced 
by  that  work  of  divine  charity  of  thine,  will  be  felt  long  after 
thou  and  thy  heartHsearching  appeal  have  vanished  into  the 
oblivion  of  the  past.  But  what  matters  it  to  thee  if  tlie  song  ia 
forgotten  by  coming  generations?  It  performed  its  mission  of 
mercy  on  earth,  and  has  opened  for  thee  the  gates  of  heaven. 

Such  a  work  of  fiction  as  The  Oaxtons  refreshes  and  invigorates 
the  mind  by  its  perusal;  and  virtue  becomes  beautifol  for  its 
own  sake.    Yon  love  the  gentle  humanity  of  the  single-hearted 


um  i»  mm  m»kititm§. 


l'l."< 


phiiMopiMr,  tte  tlMfMliig  itaipHot^  of  kto  levlBg  helpmiito,  md 
souM^  know  wiiMkU  tAuAre  t1l«  mo9f--Ofttherine  Ib  ber 
ocM^ugal  or  afttoniil  g^awwfar-^he  iiobi*  b«t  niistttkeii  pride 
of  th«  ftae  4^  mMtfto  ItollAt,  ^  iwal  ^etv  ef  ibe  tale — er  the 
ei^^toiit  fomg  mm,  bfa»  iM^ew,  wHto  reeii^nw  the  fiiBen  eon, 
and  is  ilt  too  perfeet  te  he  naiflaral.  A«  taan^p  ftw  morri 
lessons  eaa  he  leanwd  fteii  tirih  aeret^  cs  Uront  niest  works 
vrlttin  etpcesslT^^fertiM  telniotieii JAd  hanprevsment  of  man- 
kind^ Mid  thejt  lot»  ao&hig  hjr  Ae  hMotttAd  end  attraotiTO  garb 
iB^iebibe]rarepi«8ea«edtetheTetd«fv  ^ 

Ooif  hkflsed  Lord  htoseif  did  sot  disdalB  the  me  of  iBegory, 
wMob  k  tratiH  e«rragrad  tolihe  heaiMr  Mider  e  aymboHoal  form. 
His  adtairaMe  paMU0%  aaA  of  wiicft  ti^  a  Kttle  biiitory,  were 
the  most  popular  m^^odn^thei-eonld  be  edoptti  to  instmot  ^e 
loww  olines,  who,  ehlefif  uneducated,  reqtriie  tile  fllNistratknt 
of  a  anbleot  tn  order  to  itndenitnd  to* 

MKfpi  in  his  friBoitable  Ihl^Ses^  portra^red  ^vongh  hti  anhmda 
l^e  yttiom  passldm  and  idflee  of  men,  admirably  adspting^  th^n 
totbe<^rtteterahemeaQltoaiiMza,  uidtheaboses  he  ondea' 
▼onred  throngfa  tldB  melhtti  to  teforin.  flMse  bMmtiM  fietions . 
have  don«  amdi  to  throw'  disgrace  itpfm  wga&ijf  selfirtfinass, 
oraelty,  airartee,  and  HQOstfoe,  and  to  exalt  patieiioe,  Itdelitf, 
merey,  "I'd  gencmelty,  eren  among  Ghxistians  who  were  blessed 
wifh  ft  higher  mond  code  than  that  e^foyed  by  tite  wise  pagan ; 
andthey  wiH  eonttnae  to  be  md  and  admired  as  Icng  as  l^e 
art  of  printing  ezlsto  to  rendw  them  immortal. 

iBYeary  good  work  of  fiction  is  a  step  towards  the  mental  im- 
provement of  mankind,  and  to  every  snob  writer,  we  say  God 
speed  f 


THE  EAETHQtTAKS. 


"Berk !  heard  ye  not  h  sound  ?" 
"  Ayot  *^  ^^  sullen  roar 

0:  ~:inows  brealdng  on  the  shora." 
"  Husb  I  —  'tis  beneath  the  ground]^ 

That  hollow  rending  shock, 


\.- 


MAceaaviv  waav  wsha  •a«v«au«auMO  a 


mmy^ 


.  um  nr  ffHB  mM^mmu^  tit 

The  solid  eMrtlt  doOt  like  A  draakiad  wel  i 

Pale  nfttnie  holdf  ker  breafli, 

Her  tribee  aie  mute  ■•  de»^ 
In  silflat  dreed  the  coming  doom  ther  fed." 

**  Ah,  €lod  have  metcf  f—hark !  those  dismal 
Man  knows  his  danger  now, 
And  veils  in  dust  his  brow. 
Eeneath,  ^e  yawning  earth— ^bove,  the  lurid  rides  f 
I^Mtal,  behold  the  toil  and  boast  of  yean 
In  one  britf  monMnt  to  eblivien  hurled. 
So  shall  i .  M,  wh«a  this  Tain  guil^  world 
Of  woe,  and  sad  neoessitjr  md  tears, 
Sinks  at  the  awful  mandate  <of  it?  Lord,    . 


Lira  nr  the  oiEAttiiroe. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


r 


■ 

'" 

\ 

■ 

i: 

".AIM  t  pooir  nianlao ; 
For  thee  no  hope  can  dawn— no  tender  tie 
WafcV  In  th^r  bUghted  heart  a  thrOl  of  joy ; 
9he  iamiortal  miad  to  tov^ed  vlth  the  dosi, 
Kre  the  tenadeiu  chorda  of  Ul»  give  wi^  I" 

8.  M. 

OtiB  next  viat  was  to  the  Lunatic  Asylum.  The  building 
is  of  white  brick — a  material  not  very  common  in  Oanada^ 
'but  used  largely  in  Toronto,  where  stone  has  to  be  brought 
from  a  considerable  distance,  there  being  no  quarries  in  the 
neighbourhood.  Brick  has  not  the  substantial,  august  ap" 
pearance,  that  stone  gives  to  a  large  building,  and  it  is  more 
liable  to  injury  from  the  severe  frosts  of  winter  in  this  climate. 
The  asylum  is  a  spacious  edifice,  .surrounded  by  extensive 
grounds  for  the  cultivation  of  fruits  and  vegetables.  These 
are  principaUy  worked  by  the  male  patients,  who  are  in  a  state 
of  convalescence,  while  it  affords  them  ample  room  for  air  and.: 
exercise. 

A  large  gang  of  these  unfortunates  were  taking  their  daily 
promenade  when  our  cab  stopped  at  the  gate.  They  gazed 
upon  us  with  an  eager  fdr  of  childish  curiosity,  as  we  alighted 
from  our  conveyance,  and  entered  the  building. 

We  were  received  very  politely  by  one  of  the  gentlemen 
belonging  to  the  establishment,  who  proceeded  to  show  us,  over 
the  place. 

Ascending  a  broad  flight  of  steps,  as  clean  as  it  was  posdble 
for  bnman  hflnda  to  mftkn  thAm.  wo  nAiriA  tn  a  loner  -nri/lA  mil. 


Um  VK  TBB  OLBilRniOS.  wK 

lery,  separated  at  either  end  by  largfe  folding-doors,  the  upper 
part  of  which. were  of  glass;  ^ose  to  the  right  opening  into 
the  ward  set  apart  for  male  patic^  ^3,  who  were  so  far  harmless 
that  they  were  allowed  the  free  nse  of  their  limbs,  and  ooold 
be  spoken  to  without  any  danger  to  the  visitors.  The  femalo 
Innatios  inhabited  the  ward  to  the  left,  and  to  these'  fre  first 
directed  our  attention. 

The  long  hall  into  which  their  work-rooms  and  sleeping 
apartments  opened  was  lofty,  well  lighted,  well  aired,  and  ex- 
quisitely dean ;  so  were  the  persons  of  the  women,  wha  were 
walking  to  and  fro,  laughing  and  chatting  very  sociably  to- 
gether. Others  were  sewing  and  quilting  in  rooms  set  apart 
for  that  purpose.  There  was  no  appearance  of  wretchedness 
or  misery  in  this  ward;  nothing  that  associated  with  it  the 
terrible  idea  of  madness  I  had  been  wont  to  entertain — ^for 
these  poor  creatures  looked  healthy  and  cheerfal,  nay,  almost 
happy,  as  if  they  had  given  the  world  and  all  its  cares  the 
go-by.  There  was  one  thin,  eccentrio  looking  woman  in  mid- 
dle life,  who  came  forward  to  receive  us  with  an  air  of  great 
dignity;  she  gave  us  her  hand  in  a  most  condescending 
manner,  and  smiled  most  gradously  when  the  gentleman  who 
was  with  us  inquired  after  her  ma^esi/y^s  health.  She  fancies 
herself  Yiotoria,  and  in  order  to  humour  her  conceit,  she  is 
allowed  to  wear  a  cap  of  many  colours,  with  tinsel  ornaments. 
This  person,  who  is  from  the  lowest  class,  certainly  ei^oys 
her  imaginary  dignity  in  a  much  greater  degree  than  any 
crowned  monarch,  and  is  perhaps  far  prouder  of  her 
fool's  cap  than  our  gracious  sovereign  is  of  her  imperial 
diadem. 

The  madwomen  round  her  appeared  to  consider  her  as- 
sumption of  royalty  as  a  very  good  joke,  for  the  homage  they 
rendered  her  was  quizzical  in  the  extreme. 

There  are  times  wh3n  these  people  seem  to  have  a  vague 
consoiousnera  of  their  situation;  when  gleams  of  sense  break 
in  upon  them,  and  whisper  the  awful  truth  to  their  minds. 
Such  moments  must  form  the  drops  of  bitterness  in  the  poi* 
eoned  cup  of  life,  which  a  mysterious  Providence  htis  presented 


MMMi 


2S6 


Un  XH  THE  OLBARIirOS. 


I 


to  their  Hpf.  While  I  was  looking  ladly  from  faee  to  face,  as 
these  benighted  ereatnres  flitted  round  me,  a  tall  stoat  woman 
exolaimed  in  a  load  voice — 

«' That's  Mrs.  M ,  of  B^eyiUel    God  bless  her  I    Many 

a  good  quarter  dollar  Tve  got  from  her;"  and,  ranning  up  to 
mfi,  she  flong  her  arms  about  my  neolc,  and  kissed  me  most 
vehemently. 

I  did  not  at  first  recognise  her ;  and,  though  I  submitted 
with  a  good  grace  to  the  mad  hug  she  gave  me,  I  am  afraid 
that  I  trembled  not  a  little  in  her  grasp.  She  was  the  wife 
of  a  cooper,  who  lived  opposite  to  us  during  the  first  two 
years  we  rodded  in  BeHevUle ;  and  I  used  to  buy  from  her 
all  the  milk  I  Heeded  for  the  diildren. 

She  was  always  a  strange  eceentrio  creature  when  sane — ^if, 
indeed,  she  ever  had  enjoyed  the  right  use  of  her  senses;  and, 
in  spite  of  the  joy  she  manifested  at  the  unexpected  ught  of 
me,  I  rraaember  her  once  threatening  to  break  my  head  wiUi 
an  old  hoop,  when  I  endeavoured  to  save  her  little  g^l  from 
a  firightf ol  flagellation  with  Ae  same  instrument.  y: 

I  had  stept  across  the  street  to  her  husband^s  workshop,  t(ft^ 
order  a  new  mei^  barrel.    I  found  him  putting  a  barrel  to- 
gether, assisted  by  a  fine  little  girl  of  ten  years  of  age,  who 
eml»raced  the  staves  with  her  thin  supple  anns,  while  the  father 
slipped  one  of  the  hoops  over  them  in  order  to  secure  them 
in  ihmr  place.    It  was  a  pretty  picture;  the  smiling  rosy  face 
of  the  girl  looking  down  upon  her  father,  as  he  stooped  over 
the  barrel  ac^fosting  the  hoop,  his  white  curling  hair  !&llin9^. 
over  her  slender  arms.    Just  then  the  door  was  flung  (^n^r 
and  Mrs. rushed  in  like  a  fhry. 

'*  Katrine,  where  are  you"?" 

**Here,  mother,"  said  the  child,  very  quietly. 

*'  How  dar'd  you  to  leave  the  cradle  without  my  lave?** 

"  JFather  called  me,"  and  the  child  turned  pale,  and  began  to  ^ 
trraible.    *^  I  came  for  &  moment  to  help  him." 

**Tou  Uttie  wretch!"  cried  the  ui^just  woman,  seizing  th« 
child  by  the  arm.    **  Fll  teach  you  to  mind  him  moi«  nor  you 


m   A»  _i^ 


mua  me«     xase  mat,  sua  vaas, 


UfK  nr  THB  ClMkUlSOS. 


m 


Here  followed  an  awftal  oath,  and  such  a  blow  npon  the  bare 
neck  of  the  nnhappy  child,  that  she  left  her  hold  of  the  barrel, 
and  fbirly  shrieked  with  pain. 

**Let  the  girl  alone  Mary ;  it  waa  my  fonlt,**  a«id  the  hns' 
bond. 

**  Yes,  it  always  is  yonr  fttnlt  I  but  she  shall  pay  for  it;**  and, 
taking  np  a  bn^en  hoop,  she  began  to  beat  the  ohUd  fhrioosly. 

My  woman*s  heart  (xrald  stand  it  no  lonfer*  I  ran  forward, 
and  threw  my  arms  nmnd  the  ohild. 

**  Qet  ont  wid  yon  t"  diie  oried ;  **  what  bnsinessis  it  of  yours  t 
111  break  yonr  head  if  you  are  not  off  out  of  this.** 

"  I'm  not  afttUd  of  you,  Mrs. ;  but  I  would  not  see  you 

use  a  dog  in  that  manner,  mach  less  a  child,  who  has  done  no- 
thing  to  deserre  snoh.  treatmwt.** 

**Onrse  yon  all!*'  said  the  human  fiend,  fiinging  doKnher 
ugly  weapon,  and  scowling  upon  us  with  her  gloomy  eyes.  *^I 
wish  you  were  an  in .**  .         "" 

A  place  fiur  too  warm  for  this  hot  season  of  the  year,  I  thought, 
as  I  walked  sorrowfully  home.  Bad  as  I  then  considered  her,  I 
havo  now  no  doubt  that  it  was  the  indpient  workings  of  her 
direfhl  malady,  which  certainly  comes  nearest  to  any  idea  we 
can  form  of  demoniacal  possession.  She  is  at  present  an  in- 
curable but  harmless  maniac ;  and,  in  spite  of  tlie  ini^tance  of 
cruelty  that  I  have  Just  related  towards  her  little  girl,  now, 
during  the  dark  period  of  her  mind's  eclipse,  gleams  of  maternal 
love  struggled  like  glimpses  of  sunshine  through  a  stormy  cloud, 
and  she  inquired  of  me  earnestly,  patbetically,»nay,  even  ten- 
derly, for  her  children.  Alas,  poor  maniac  t  How  could  I  tell 
her  that  the  girl  she  had  chastised  so  undeservedly  had  died  in 
early  womanhood,  and  her  son,  a  fine  young  man  of  twenty,  had 
committed  suicide,  and  flung  himself  ofi^  the  bridge  into  the 
Moira  river  only  a  few  months  before.  Her  Insanity  saved  her 
from  the  knowledge  of  events  which  might  have  distracted  a 
firmer  bridn.  She  seemed  hardly  satisfied  with  my  evasive 
answers,  and  looked  doubtingly  and  cunningly  at  me,  as  if  some 
demon  had  whispered  to  her  the  awftal  truth. 

It  was  fttftismW  that  this  woman  shanld  recognis6  me  1^4?  so 


888 


Un  IN  lai  OLXAUHOa 


many  years.  Altered  aa  my  appearance  waa  by  time  and  alok> 
nesa,  my  dearest  Menda  wonld  hardly  have  known  me,  yet  ahe 
knew  me  at  a  single  glance.  What  was  still  more  extraordinary, 
she  remembered  my  danghter,  now  «  wife  and  mother,  whom 
she  had  not  seen  since  she  was  a  little  girl. 

What  a  wonderftkl  faculty  is  memory  I  the  most  mysterious 
and  inezplieable  in  the  great  riddle  of  life ;  that  plastic  tablet  on 
which  the  Almighty  raters  with  unerring  fidelity  the  records 
of  being,  making  it  the  depository  of  all  our  words,  thoughts, 
and  dee4»— this  faithAil  witness  against  as  for  good  or  eyil,  at 
the  great  assize  that  hereafter  most  determine  our  eternal  fate, 
when  conscience,  at  his  dread  conmuuid,  shall  open  up  this  book 
of  life  I  "  Keep  thy  heart,  my  son,  for  out  of  it  are  the  issues  of 
life."  Be  sure  that  memory  guards  well  that  secret  treasure. 
All  that  the  heart  ever  felt,  the  mind  ever  thought,  the  restless 
spirit  ever  willed,  is  there. 

Another  woman — ^wild,  dark,  and  fierce-looking,  with  her 
bands  in  mu£3er8 — flitted  after  us  from  room  to  room,  her  black, 
flashing  eyes  fixed  intently  <m  my  daughter.  "  Yes,  it  is  my  own 
Mary  I  but  ahe  won't  speak  to  mo." 

The  gentleman  in  attendance  begged  us  to  take  no  notice  of 
this  person,  as  she  was  apt  to  be  very  violent. 

Another  stout,  fair-haired  matron,  with  good  features,  and  a 
very  pleasant  face,  insisted  on  shaking  hands  with  us  all  round. 
Judging  fi*om  her  round,  sonsy,  rosy  face,  you  never  could  have 
imagined  her  to  have  been  mad.  When  we  spoke  in  admiration 
of  the  extreme  neatness  and  cleanness  of  the  large  sleeping  apart' 
ment,  she  said  very  quietly — 

"  Ah,  you  wonld  not  wonder  at  that  could  you  see  all  the 
water-witches  at  night  deauiag  it."  Then  she  turned  to  me,  and 
whispered  very  confidentially  in  ray  ear,  "  Are  you  mad?  You 
see  these  people ;  they  are  all  mad — as  mad  as  March  hares. 
Don't  come  here  if  you  can  help  it.  It's  all  very  well  at  first, 
and  it  looks  very  clean  and  comfortable ;  but  when  the  doors 
are  once  shut,  you  can't  get  out — no,  not  if  you  ask  it  upon  your 
knees."    dhe  then  retreated,  nodding  gignificantly. 

Leaving  this  ward,  we  visited  the  one  which  c(»itgined  tho 


LUra  M  TBI  OLBARIMOS. 


380 


nude  InOAtios.  They  Appeared  for  mora  gloomy  and  ^)8erved 
than  the  womea  we  had  left.  One  young  man,  who  osed  to 
travel  the  country  with  Jewellery,  and  who  had  often  been  at 
oor  hooae,  recognised  na  in  a  moment ;  but  he  did  not  come  for- 
ward like  Mrs. to  greet  us,  but  ran  into  a  oorner,  and,  tam- 
ing to  the  wall,  covered  his  £ftce  with  his  hands  untU  we  bod 
passed  on.  Here  was  at  least  a  oonsdoosness  of  bis  unfortunate 
situation,  that  was  very  painfbl  to  witness.  A  gentlemanly  man 
in  the  prime  of  life,  who  had  once  practised  the  law  in  Toronto, 
and  was  a  person  of  some  oonseqnenoe,  still  retained  Uie  dress 
and  manners  belonging  to  his  class.  He  had  gone  to  the  same 
eohool  with  my  son-in-law,  and  he  greeted  him  in  the  most 
hearty  and  a£BBotionate  manner,  throwing  bis  arm  about  his 
shoulder,  and  talking  of  his  aflSairs  in  the  most  confidential  man- 
ner. His  mental  aberration  was  only  displayed  in  a  few  harm- 
lesB  remarks,  such  as  telling  us  that  this  large  house  was  his, 
that  it  had  been  built  with  his  money,  and  that  it  was  vevj  hard 
he  was  kept  a  prisoner  in  his  own  dwelling ;  iix&t  he  was  worth 
millions,  and  that  people  were  trying  to  cheat  him  of  all  his 
money,  but,  that  if  once  he  could  get  out,  he  would  punish  them 
all.  He  then  directed  my  son-in-law  to  bring  up  some  law  books 
that  he  named,  on  the  miorrow,  and  he  would  give  him  a  dozen 
suits  against  the  parties  from  whom  he  had  received  so  manv 
injuries. 

In  the  balcony,  at  the  far  end  of  the  gallery,  we  found  a  group 
of  men  walking  to  »ud  iVo  fur  the  sake  of  air,  or  lounging  list- 
lessly on  benches,  gazing,  with  vacant  eyes,  upon  the  fine  pros- 
pect of  wood  and  water  dressed  in  the  gorgeous  hues  of  an  au- 
tumnal sunset.  One  very  intelligent-looking  man,  with  a  mag- 
nificent head,  was  busy  writing  upon  a  dirty  piect  of  paper,  with 
a  pencil,  his  table  furnished  by  bis  knee,  and  his  desk  the  covor 
of  his  closed,  but  well-worn  Bible.  He  rose  as  wo  drew  near 
him,  and,  bowing  politely,  gave  us  a  couple  of  poema  which  he 
drew  from  his  waistcoat  pooket. 

"  These  were  written  some  time  ago,"  he  said;  " one  of  them 
is  much  better  than  the  other.  There  are  some  fine  lines  in  that 
ode  to  Niagara — I  composed  them  on  the  sp<^" 


m 


240 


un  m  ran  OLSAiinr^t. 


On  my  obserring  the  iHgikiliiM  of  JMf  iifilz«d  to  th«ee  pro- 
dnettons,  be  Mdiled,  stid  mM,  ^Uh  m«oh  oompltoonoy,  ^  My 
name  is  Iktaid  Jfotr."  Tblst  nfkm  inquiry,  we  found  was  really 
the  case,  and  the  mad  poet  considered  that  the  eoiaeidenee  gave 
him  a  rtght  toei^oy  the  world-wide  ftune  of  his  celebrated  name 
sake.  The  poems  which  he  glite  ns,  and  which  ire  itiU  inmy 
pcieeMdon,  contain  some  Bnei  of  great  «nerll|  bat  they  are 
strangely  unconnocted,  and  rery  di^Mtite  in  rhyme  and  keip- 
ing.  He  watched  onr  coantananees  intently  while  rea^ttig  them, 
oontinnally  stepping  in,  and  pointing  ont  to  os  his  fliTorite  pas- 
si^ies.  We  Were  going  to  retnm  tlram,  but  he  bade  ns  keep 
ihem.  *'  He  had  hmidreds  of  c^ies  Of  them,"  he  said,  **  in  his 
head."  He  &en  took  'ni:.^  one  aide,  and  oatreated  as  in  the 
most  piitheiic  manner  to  nee  ^  inflnenoe  to  get  him  ont  ^  that 
place.  **He  was,"  he  ai^'**«  good  dasito  eeholtt',  and  had 
been  prirato  tntor  in  several  fiunilies  of  high  Napectability,  and 
he  coald  show  ns  testimonials  as  tofniartet«p  And^ahiKty.  It  la 
hard  to  keep  me  htt*e  idHng,"  he  oontinned, '*wben  my  poor 
little  1>oys  want  me  so  badly  ai  hpme;;.peor  ftUowst  and  they 
have  no  motiier  to  supply  my  place.'*  He  s^hed  heavily,  and 
drew  his  hand  across  h^  brow,  and  lookied  sadly  and  dreamily 
into  the  bine  distance  of  Ontario.  Tlie  madman's  thonghtfi  were 
tuT  away  with  his  yonng  sons,  or,  perhape,  had  ranged  back 
to  the  rugged  heathery  hills  of  his  own  glorious  mountain  land  I 

There  were  two  boys  among  these  men  who,  in  spito  ot  their 
Jnnaoy,  had  an  eye  to  business,  and  begged  pathetically  for  cop- 
pers, though  of  what  use  they  could  be  to  Ihem  in  that  place  I 
cannot  imagine.  I  saw  no  girls  under  twelve  years  of  age. 
There  were  several  boys  who  i^peared  scarcely  in  their  teens. 

Mounting  another  flight  of  snowy  stairs,  we  came  to  the  wards 
above  those  we  had  just  inspected.  These  were  occupied  by 
patients  that  were  not  in  a  state  to  aHow  visitors  a  nearer 
inspection  ^kn  observing  them  through  the  glass  doors.  By 
Stan*  og  upon  a  short  flight  of  In^ad  steps  that  led  dovm  po  their 
ward,  we  were  able  to  ^o  this  with  perfect  security.  The  hands 
of  all  these  Women  were  secored  in  muffleifs;  some  were  danc- 
ing, others  mssing  to  and  &o  ^t  Ml  speed.  olaopyBg  their  hands. 


M 


UVB  IN   TUB  0LBAIUN08. 


ml^m^^ 


and  laughing  and  sboating  with  the  most  boisterous  mernmeut 
How  dreadful  is  the  laugh  of  madness  I  how  sorrowM  thd  ex- 
pression of  their  diabolioal  mirth  t  tears  and  lamentations  would 
have  been  less  shookingf  for  it  would  have  seemed  more  natural. 
Among  these  raving  maniacs  I  recognized  the  singular  face  of 
Grace  Marks— no  longer  sad  and  despairing,  but  lighted  up  with 
the  fire  of  insanity,  and  glowing  with  a  hideous  and  fiend-like 
merriment.    On  perceiving  that  strangers  wero  observing  her, 
she  fled  shrieking  away  like  a  phantom  into  one  of  the  side 
rooms.   It  appears  that  even  in  the  wildest  bursts  of  her  terrible 
malady,  she  is  continually  haunted  by  a  memory  of  the  past. 
Unhappy  girl  1  when  will  the  long  horror  of  her  puLishment 
^  and  remorse  be  over  ?    When  will  she  sit  at  the  feet  of  Jesus, 
I  clothed  with  the  unsullied  garments  of  his  righteousness,  the 
f 'stain  of  blood  washed  fh>m  her  hand,  and  her  soul  redeemed, 
f  and  pardoned,  and  in  her  right  mind?    It  is  fisarfkil  to  look  at 
her,  and  ^contemplate  her  fate  in  connexion  with  her  crime. 
What  a  striking  illustration  does  it  afford  of  that  awful  text, 
''\*  Vengeance  is  mine,  I.will  repay,  saith  the  Lord  I" 

There  was  one  woman  in  this  ward,  with  raven  hair  and  eyes, 

and  a  sallow,  unhealthy  complexion,  whom  the  sight  of  us 

-  transported  into  a  paroxysm  of  ungovernable  rage.    She  rushed 

:  to  the  door,  and  doubled  her  fists  at  us,  and  began  cursing  and 

swearing  at  a  furious  rate,  and  then  she  laughed — such  a  laugh 

'as  one  might  fancy  Satan  uttered  when  he  recounted,  in  fUll 

:i  conclave,  his    riumph  over  the  credulity  of  our  first  mother. 

%  Presently  she  grew    outrajgeous,  and  had  to   be  thrown   to 

y.the  ground,  and  secured  by  two  keepers ;  but  to  silence  her  was 

beyond  their  art    She  was  kicking  and  foaming,  and  uttering 

>words  too  dreadful  for  human  ears  to  listen  to;   and  Grace 

'.Marks  came  out  firom  her  hiding-place,  and  pertbrmed  a  thou- 

f  sand  mad  gambols  round  her :  and  we  turned  from  the  piteous 

scene, — and  I,  for  one,  fervently  thanked  God  for  ray  sanity, 

and  inwardly  repeated  those  exquisite  lines  of  the  peasant  bard 

?  of  my  native  country : — 

••  Oil,  Thou,  who  bidd'at  the  verasl  juices  rise, 
V;  Thou  on  whose  blftst  autumnal  foUaffo  flies ; 

11  ' 


■  'J  Z 


842  UVB  IN  THB  OLBABIirOS. 

Let  peace  ne'er  leave  me,  nor  my  heart  grow  cold, 
Whilst  UiiB  and  eaaity  are  mine  to  hold." 

We  OBst  but  a  cursory  glance  on  the  men  who  occupied  the    - 
opposite  ward.    We  had  seen  enough  of  tpeiuiess,  and  the 
shrieks  from  the  outrageous  patients  above,  whom  strangers 
have  seldom  nerve  enough  to  visit,  quickened  our  steps  as  we 
hurried  from  the  place. 

We  looked  into  the  large  ball-room  before  we  descended  the 
stairs,  where  these  poor  creatures  are  allowed  at  stated  times  to 
meet  for  pleasure  and  amusement.    But  such  a  spectacle  would  ^ 
be  to  me  more  revolting  thau  the  scene  I  had  just  witnessed ;    . 
the  delirium  of  their  frightM  disease  would  be  less  shocking  in 
my  eyes  than  the  madness  of  their  mirth.  The  struggling  gleams 
of  seuse  and  memory  in  these  unhappy  people  reminded  me  of  a   | 
JMutiful  passage  in  "Tupper's  Proverbial  Philosophy  :^*  l\ 

"  On  all  things  created  remaineth  the  half-effaced  signature  of  God ; 
Somewhat  of  Mr  ttaA  good,  thou|^  blotted  by  the  finger  of  corniption.' ' 

What  a  sublime  truth!  How  beautiMly  and  forcibly  ex- 
pressed! With  what  a  mournful  dignity  it  invests  our  fallen 
nature!  Sin  has  marred  the  Divine  image  in  which  we  were 
made,  but  the  soul  in  its  intense  lon^ng  after  God  and  good 
bears,  in  its  sorrowfol  servitude  to  evil,  the  impress  of  the  hand 
that  formed  it  happy  and  free.  Yes,  even  in  the  most  abject 
and  fallen,  some  slight  trace  of  good  remains*— some  spark  of  the  : 
Divine  essence  that  still  lingers  amid  the  diu'kness  and  corruption 
of  guilt,  to  rekindle  the  dying  embers,  and  restore  them  once 
more  to  life  and  liberty.  The  madman  raving  in  his  chains  still 
remembers  his  God,  to  bless  or  blaspheme  his  name.  We  are 
astonished  at  his  ecstatic  dream  of  happiness,  or  shocked  beyond 
measure  at  the  blackness  of  his. despair.  His  superhuman 
strength  fills  us  with  wonder ;  and,  even  in  the.  extinction  of 
reason,  we  ackuowleOge  the  eternal  presence  of  God,  and  per- 
ceive flashes  of  his  Spirit  breaking  through  the  dark  material 
cloud  that  shades,  but  cannot  wholly  annihilate  the  light  of  the 
soul,  the  immortality  within. 

The  poor,  HeuSeleBS  idiot,  Trhc  appears  to  mortal  ey^  a  mere 


Un  tX  XHB  0LKARXKO8. 


i> 


243 


living  machine,  a  body  without  a  tonlf  flittiog  aracng  tho  grass, 
and  playing  with  the  flowers  and  pebbles  in  the  vaoanoy  of  his 
miLJ,  is  still  a  wonderfbl  iUnstration  of  the  wisdom  and  power 
of  God.  We  behold  a  hnman  being  inf<Nior  in  instinct  and 
intelligence  to  the  meanest  orders  of  animal  life,  dependent  upon 
the  common  charities  of  his  kind  for  subsistence,  yet  conscious 
of  the  friend  who  pities  his  helplessness,  and  of  the  himd  that 
administers  to  bis  wants.  The  Spirit  of  his  Kaker  shall  yet 
breathe  upon  the  dull  diaoaof  his  stagmmt  brain,  and  open  the 
eyes  of  this  Utnd  of  soul  into  the  light  of  his  own  eternal  day! 
What  a  lesson  to  the  (aide  of  man — ^to  the  yain  dwellers  in 
houses  of  clay ! 

Beturning  from  the  asylum,  we  stopped  to  examine  Trinity 
Oollege,  which  is  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  road.  The  architect, 
K.  TuUy,  Esq.,  has  shown  considerable  taste  and  genius  in  the 
dosign  of  this  edidoe,  which,  like  the  asylum,  is  built  of  white 

'he  corners,  doors,  uid  windows  &ced  with  cut  stone. 

.i  book  from  the  road  in  a  fim  park-like  lawn,  surrcmnded 
by  stately  trees  of  nature^s  own  planting.  When  the  oollege  is 
completed,  it  will  be  one  of  the  finest  public  buildings  in  the 
province,  and  form  one  of  the  noblest  ornaments  to  this  part  of 
the  city.  t 

THE  MANIAC. 


ii' 


"The  wind  at  my  easemoDt  loreiim'd  shrilly  and  loud, 
And  the  pale  moon  look'd  in  from  tho  mantle  of  cloud ; 
Old  ocean  was  tossing  in  terrible  might, 
And  the  black  rolling  billows  were  crested  with  light. 
Like  a  shadowy  dreaim  on  my  Benses  that  hour, 
Stole  the  beautiful  vision  of  g^videur  and  power ; 
And  the  sorrows  of  life  that  brought  tears  to  mine  eye, 
Were  forgot  in  the  glories  of  ocean  and  sky. 


"  ♦  Oh  nature ! '  I  ctled,  *  in  uiy  boftutiful  face 
All  the  wisdom  and  love  of  thy  Maker  I  trace ; 
Thy  aspect  olivine  checks  my  tears  as  they  start, 
Aad  fora  hoses,  long  banish'd,  flow  bi 


f»T»  ♦/x 


— "r— 1 


244 


UFS  nr  raa  olbabinob. 


Thtti  mnsiog,  I  irma.An\6.  aJon«  to  the  above, 
To  gaze  on  the  waters,  and  list  to  th^  zoar, 
When  J  saw  a  poo{  lost  one  bend  over  the  steep 
Of  the  tall  beatUng  eliff  that  juts  >  ut  o'er  the  deep. 

"The  -vrind  wav  'd  hex  garments,  and  April's  rafh  showers 
Hung  like  gems  in  her  dark  loobi,  euwreath'd  with  wild  flowers ; 
Her  bosom  was  bared  to  the  cold  midnight  storm, 
'    That  unspatinglv  beat  on  her  thin  fragile  form  *, 
Her  blade  eyes  flash'd  sternly  whence  reason  had  fled, 
And  she  giano'd  on  my  sight  like  some  ghost  of  Hke  dead 
As  she  sang  a  loud  strain  to  the  hoarse  dxuaoing  surge, 
That  rang  on  my  earti  like  the  plaint  of  a  dirge. 

"And  he  who  had  left  her  to  madness  and  shame. 
Who  h&d  robb'd  her  of  honour,  and  blaeted  her  famo-^  , 
Did  he  think,  in  that  hour,  of  the  heart  he  had  riven. 
The  tOwb  h(>  had  broken,  the  anguii^  he'd  given  !— 
And  where  was  the  infant,  whose  birth  gave  th3  Uow 
To  the  peaoe  of  the  motlier,  and  madden'd  hsf  woe  ? 
A  thought  rush'd  across  me— I  ask'd  for  her  child, — 
With  a  wild  laugh  of  triumph  the  iiianiac  replied — 

* '  Where  the  dark  tide  mns  strcmgest,  the  cliff  rises  steep, 
.^ere  ihe  wild  waters  eddy,  I've  rock'd  him  to  sleep  : 
His  sleep  is  so  sound  that  the  rush  of  the  stream, 
Whffli  the  winds  are  abroad,  cannot  waken  his  dream. 
And  see  you  that  rook,  with  its  surf-beaten  side, 
There  the  Mood  of  my  false  love  runs  red  with  the  tide ; 
The  sea-mew  screams  shrilly,  the  white  breaktsrs  rave— 
In  the  foam  of  the  billow  I'll  danoe  o'er  his  grave !' 

"'Mid  the  roar  of  the  tempest,  the  wind's  hollow  moan. 
There  rose  on  my  chill'd  ear  a  faint,  dying  groan ; 
The  billows  raged  on ;   the  moon  smiled  on  the  flood ; 
Bttt  vacant  the  spot  where  the  maniac  had  stood. 
I  turned  firom  the  scene— on  my  spirit  there  fell 
A  question  that  sadden'd  my  heart  like  a  knell ;  ^ 

I  look'd  up  to  heav'n,  but  I  breath'd  not  a  word, 
For  the  answer  was  given — '  Trust  thou  in  the  Lord  I' " 


LIF8  IN  TBS  CBARINOS. 


245 


(  t 


* 


-.'   -'  :t'> ' 


■  ■'■!  . 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

u  A  happy  acene  of  rani  mirth. 
Drawn  flrom  the  teamlBg  lap  of  aarth, 
In  which  a  nation's  promtae  Ilea. 
Honor  to  him  who  wini  a  prise  I — 
A  trophy  won  by  honor's  toil 
lar  nobler  than  the  vlotpr'^  ■poit'* 


8.  M. 


ToBosrro  was  all  bustle  and  excitement,  preparing  for  the 
Provincial  Agrionltnral  Show ;  no  other  dnbjeot  was  thought  of 
or  talked  about.  The  ladies,  too,  taking  ad^antagfj  of  the  great 
influx  of  strangers  to  the  city,  were  to  hold  a  bazaar  for  the 
benefit  of  8t.  G^oi^e's  Ghurch ;  the  sum  which  they  hoped  to 
realize  by  the  sale  of  their  iincy  wares  to  be  appropriated  to 
paying  off  the  remaining  debt  contracted  for  the  sidd  -laint, 
in  erecting  this  handsome  edifice  dedicated  to  his  name — ^let  us 
hope  not  to  his  service.  Tet  the  idea  of  ereottog  u  temple  for 
the  worship  of  God,  and  calling  it  the  church  of  a  saint  of  tery 
doubiful  sarmtity-  is  one  of  those  laughable  absurdities  that  we 
would  gladly  see  banished  in  this  enlightened  age.  Truly,  there 
are  many  things  in  which  our  wisdom  does  not  exceed  the  wis- 
dom of  our  forefathers.  The  weather  during  the  first  two  days 
of  the  exhibition  was  very  nnpropitioas ;  a  succeasion  of  drench- 
ing thunder  showers,  succeeded  by  warm  bursts  of  sunshine, 
promising  better  things,  and  giving  rise  to  hopes  in  the  ex- 
pectant visitants  to  the  show,  which  were  as  often  doomed  to 
bo  disappointed  by  returns  of  blackness,  storm,  and  pouring 
rain. 
^1  was  very  anxlouB  to  hear  the  opening  address,  and  I  must 


246 


Lira  nr  trs  etEAimros. 


confess  that  I  was  among  those  who  felt  this  aiinihilation  of  hope 
very  severely  ;  and,  being  an  invalid,  I  dared  not  venture  upon 
the  grounds  before  Wednesday  morning,  when  this  most  interesiV- 
ihg  part  of  the  performance  was  over.  Wednesday,  however, 
was  as  beantifal  a  September  day  as  the  most  sanguine  of  th<^ 
agricultural  exhibitors  could  desire,  and  the  fine  space  allottfid 
for  the  display  of  the  various  objects  of  industry  was  crowded  to 
overflowing. 

It  was  i  glorious  scene  for  those  wh'>  had  the  interest  of  the  , 
colony  at  heart.    Every  district  of  the  Upper  Province  had  con-  * 
tributed  its  portion  of  labonr,  talent,  and  ingenuity,  to  famish 
forth  the  show.    The  prodacts  of  tlie  soil,  the  anvil,  and  the  % 
loom,  met  the  eye  at  every  turn.    The  genius  of  the  meohaniot 
was  displayed  in  the  effective  articles  of  machinery,  invented  to  > 
assist  the  toils  md  shorten  the  labour  of  human  hands,  and  were 
many  and  excellent  in  their  kind.    Improvements  in  old  imple-} 
ments,  and  others  entirely  new  were  showii  or  put  into  aoti[V€» ';- 
(^ration  by  the  inventors — those  real  benefEiotors  to  the  huma^ 
race,  to  whcmi  the  exploits  of  conquerors,  however  staxtliog  an4s^.. 
brilliant,  are  very  inferior  in  every  sense.  _0' 

Mechanical  genius^  which  ought  to  be  regarded  as  the  firsi- 
and  greatest  effort  of  hmnan  intellect,  is  only  now  beginning  to 
be  recognised  as  such.    The  statesman,  warrior,  poet,  painter,  | 
orator,  and  man  of  letters,  all  have  their  niche  in  the  temple  of  '- 
fame — all  have  had  their  worshippers  and  admirers ;  but  wha4 
among  them  has  celebrated  in  song  and  tale  the  grand  creativ% 
power  which  can  make  Inanimate  metals  move,  and  act  and  al*.; 
most  live,  in  the  wondrous  noachinery  of  the  present  day  1    It  is 
the  mind  that  conceived,  the  hand  that  reduced  to  practical 
usefhlness  these  miraculous  instruments,,  with  all  their  compli«;^ 
Gated  works  moving  in  harmony,  and  performing  their  appomted,: 
office,  that  comes  nearest  to   the   subliiad  Intelligence  that 
fhimed  the  universe,  and  gave  light  and  '.motion  to  that  astonish- 
ing piece  of  mechanism,  the  human  form. 

In  watcning  the  movements  of  the  steam-engine,  one  can 
•hardly  divest  one's  self  of  the  idea  that  it  possesses  life  and  con- 
the  sietsl  is  but  a  dead  agent,  but  the  spirit 


m»vuau«o.      1 


LIFB  IN  THB  OLSARIMaS. 


347 


of  the  originator  still  lives  in  it,  and  sways  it  tQ  the  c^gantio 
will  that  first  gave  it  motion  and  power.  And,  oh,  what  won- 
ders has  it  not  achieved !  what  ohstades  has  it  not  overcome  t 
how  has  it  brought  near  things  tHat  were  far  o£^  and  cromUed 
into  dost  difflonlties  which,  at  drst  sdght,  appef^red  insnc? 
monntable  t  Honour  to  the  clear-nghted.  deep-thinking  child  of 
springs  and  wheels,  at  whose  head  stands  the  great  Founder  of 
the  world,  the  grandest  humanity  that  ever  trode  the  earth! 
Rejoice,  and  shont  for  joy,  ye  sons  of  tlie  mle  and  line  I  for  was 
he  not  one  of  you!  JM.  he  not  condescend  to  bow  that  God- 
like form  over  the  oarpentaiy  bench,  and  handle  the  plwe  and 
saw  ?  Yoars  shoi^d  be  termed  the  Divine  craft,  and  those  who 
foUow  it  truly  noble.  Tour  great  Master  was  above  the  little 
things  of  earth ;  he  knew  the  true  dignity  of  maik— that  virtue 
conferred  the  same  m^esty  upon  its  possessor  in  the  workshop 
or  the  palace — that  tlie  soul^s  title  to  rank  m  a  son  of  Gk>d 
required  neither  high  birth,  nor  the  adventitioua  claims  of 
wealth — that  the  simple  name  of  a  good  man  was  a  more 
abidiDg  honour,  even  in  this  world,  than  that  of  kings  or  em- 
perors. 

Oh!  ye  sons  of  labour,  seek  to  attain  this  true  dignity 
inherent  in  your  nature,  a^d  cease  to  envy  the  possessors  of 
those  ephemeral  honours  ih&t  perish  with  the  perishing  things 
of  this  world.  The  time  is  coming — is  now  even  at  the  doors — 
when  ^neation  shall  give  you  a  truer  standing  in  society,  and 
good  men  throughout  the  whole  world  shall  recognise  each 
other  as  brothers. 

"  An'  o'er  the  earth  gnde  ^enaa  an'  worth 
Shall  bear  the  gree  ui' a' ti^t"  - 


•*s 


t»< 


Carried  away  from  my  snbjeci  by  an  hnpetuous  current  of 
thought,  I  must  step  back  to  the  show  firom.which  I  derived  a 
a  great  deal  of  satisfaction  and  pleabTire^  The  space  in  which  it 
was  exhibited  contained,  I  am  told,  about  sixteen  acres.  The 
rear  of  this,  where  the  animals  were  shown,  wa)  a  large  grove 
covered  with  tall  spreading  trees,  beneath  the  slide  of  which, 
reposing  or  standing  in  the  most  picturesque  attitude?,  were  to 


248 


LIFB   nt   THE   OLBARIKOS. 


WMSfHn  th6  findsfijfedds  of  oatile,  horses,  and  sheep,  In  the  piro- 
vinoe.  This  enolosnre  was  snrronnded  by  a  high  boarded  fence, 
against  which  pens  were  erected  fbr  the  aoobmodation  of  ple- 
thoric-looking pigs,  fat  sleepy  lambs,  and  wild  mischievons 
goats ;  while  noble  horses  were  led  to  and  tro  by  their  owners  or 
their  »eryants,  snorting  and  earveting  in  all  the  conscions  pride 
of  strength  and  beanty.  These  handsome,  provd-looking 
creatures,  might  be  considered  the  ahiitooracy  of  the  animal  de- 
partment ;  yet,  in  spite  of  their  pra^icing  hoofs,  arched  necks, 
and  ghmoes  of  fire,  the^/  had  to  labonr  in  their  vocation  as  well 
as  the  poorest  pig  that  granted  and  panted  in  its  dose  pen. 
There  was  a  dorkey  there — ^a  solitary  ass — tJfie  first  of  his  kind  I 
ever  beheld  in  the  province.  Uhased  to  snch  a  stir  and  bnstle, 
he  lifted  np  his  voice,  and  made  the  grove  ring  with  his  discor- 
dant notes.  The  horses  bounded  and  reared,  and  glanced  down 
npon  him  in  such  mad  disdain,  that  they  conld  scarcely  be  con- 
trolled by  their  keepers.  I  can  imagine  the  astonishment  they 
mnst  have  felt  on  hearing  the  first  bray  of  an  ass;  they  could 
not  have  appeared  more  startled  at  a  lion's  roar.  Whoever 
exhibited  Mr.  Braham  was  a  brave  man.  A  gentleman,  who' 
settled  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Feterboro*  twenty  years 
ago,  brought  ont  a  donkey  with  him  to  Canada,  and  nntil  the 
day  of  his  death  he  went  by  no  othe^  name  than  the  nndignified 
one  of  Donkey. 

I  cannot  help .  thinking,  that  the  donkey  would  Lv*  a  very 
useful  creature  in  ^he  colony.  Though  rather  an  untractable 
democrat,  insisting  on  having  things  his  own  way,  he  his  a 
hardy,  patient  fellow,  and  easily  kept ;  and  though  very  obsti- 
nate, is  by  no  means  insensible  of  kind  treatment,  or  incapable 
of  attachment ;  and  then,  as  an  exterminator  of  Canadian 
thiBtleSf  he  would  prove  an  invaluable  reformer  by  removing 
these  agricTdtural  pests  out  of  the  way.  Often  have  I  gazed 
upon  the  Canadian  thistle — that  prolific,  sturdy  democrat  of  the 
ail,  that  rudely  jostles  aside  its  more  delicate  and  valued  nbigh- 
..K)urs,  elbowing  them  from  their  places  with  its  wide-spreading 
:ji'  armed  foliage — and  asked  myself  for  what  purpose  it  grew 
end  flonrifshed  so  ftbundantly?    Surely,  it  must   have   some 


■:/ 


LITB  IV  TRS  CfUARIVQS. 


240 


tuefol  qnalities;  some  good  most  lie  hidden  vnder  itn  hardy 
struotnre  and  ooat  of  midl,  independently  of  its  exercising  those 
yalnable  qoalHaes  in  man — patience  and  indostry— which  must 
be  called  into  active  operation  in  order  to  root  it  ont,  and  hinder 
it  from  destroying  the  fmits  of  his  laboar.  The  time,  perhaps, 
may  an'ive  when  its  thick  milky  joiees  and  oily  roots  may  be 
found  to  yield  nntricioos  food,  or  a£ford  a  soothing  narcotic  to 
alleviate  the  restless  tossings  of  pain.  I  firmly  believe  that 
nothing  has  been  made  in  vain ;  that  every  animate  and  inani- 
mate substance  has  5ts  use,  althongh  we  may  be  ignorant  of  it ; 
that  the  most  perfect  and  beautiful  harmony  reigns  over  the 
visible  world;  that  although  we  mhj  foolishly  despise  those 
animals,  plapts,  and  insects,  that  we  eonsider  noxious,  because 
their  real  utility  has  never  been  tested  by  experience,  they  are 
absolutely  necessary  as  links  ir^  the  great  cltiun  of  Providence, 
and  appointed  to  fulfil  a  special  purpose  and  «id. 

**What  shall  we  do  for  firewood  when  all  the  forests  are 
burned  ?"  was  a  very  natural  question  ariced  us  the  other  day  by 
a  young  friend,  who,  with  very  scanty  means,  contemplated 
with  a  sort  of  horror  the  increased  demand  for  fhel,  and  its 
increasing  price. 

Tupper  has  an  admirable  answer  for  all  such  queries : — 

"  Yet  man,  heedless  of  a  God,  ooanteth  up  vain  redconing«i, 
J'earing  to  be  jostled  and  starved  out  by  the  too  prolific  increase  of  his 

Mad, 
-And  asketh,  in  unbelieving  dread,  for  how  few  years  to  come 
Will  the  black  cellars  of  the  world  yield  unto  him  fuel  for  his  winter. 
Might  not  the  wide  waste  sea  be  bent  into  narrower  bounds  ? 
Might  not  the  arm  of  diligence  make  the  tangled  wilderness  a  garden  ? 
And  for  aught  thou  canst  tell,  there  may  be  a  thousand  methods 
Of  comforting  thy  limbs  in  wannth,  though  thou  kindle  not  a  spark. 
Fear  not,  son  of  man,  for  thyself,  nor  thy  seed— with  a  multitude  is  plenty : 
God's  blessing  giveth  increase,  and  with  it  larger  than  enough." 

Surely  it  is  folly  for  any  one  to  despair  of  the  future,  while 

'^  the  providence  of  God  superintends  the  afiS^irs  of  the  rini verse. 

Is  it  not  sinful  tc  doubt  the  power  of  that  Bein^,  who  fed  a  vast 

.      ..,,.-  .11* 


m 


U9M  Vf  mi  OUABnOSt 


multitode  from  a  few  loarei  and  small  fiahesf  Is  His  m 
shortened,  that  he  can  no  longer  produce  those  articles  that  are 
indispensable  and  necessary  for  the  health  and  comfort  of  the 
creatures  dependent  npon  his  bonnty  ?  What  millions  have  been 
fed  by  the  introdaction  of  the  potato  plant-^that  wild,  half- 
poisonous  native  of  the  Ohilian  mountains  I  When  first  ez* 
hibitod  as  ,&  ourioM^v  by  8ir  Walter  Balei^,  who  could  have 
imagiQi»4  thi^  astdwishing  r«iulfair-nat  OBJ(jr  in  feeding  tbe.mnltit 
tudes  that  for  several  rages  in.  Ireland,  it  has  fad,  but.  tba€  the 
very  blight  npon  it,  by  stopping  an  easy  mode  of  obtaizung  food, 
should  be  the  instrument  in  the  hands  of  the  great  Father  to 
induce  these  impoverished,  starving  children  of  an  nnh^py 
country,  to  remove  to  lands  where  honest  toil  woidd  be  amply 
remuuMiKtedt  P^d  produce  greater  blessings  for  them  tlian  the 
precarious  support  fd9foKde4  by  an  esculent  root  t  We  have  £Euth, 
unbounded  faith,  in  the,  benevolent  care  of  the  Universal  Father, 
— ^falth  in  the  fertility  of  the  eaith,  and  her  capabilities  of  sup- 
porting to  the  endof  time  honMuneroM  ofbpving.: 

The  over-popnlation  of  t^  settled  conntriee  i6iiy  appear  to  a 
casual  thinker  a  dreadful  calamity ;  and  yet  it  is  but  the  aatural 
means  employed  by  Providence,  to  force  the  poorer  elasses,  by 
the  strong  law  of  necessity,  to  ^nigrate  and  spread  themselves 
over  the  oarth,  in  order  to  bring  into  cultivation  and  usefulness 
its  waste  places.  When  the  world  Can  no  longer  maintain  its 
inhabitants,  it  will  be  struck  out  of  being  by  the  fiat  of  ^m  who 
called  it  into  existence. 

Nothing  has  contributed  more  to  the  r^id  advance  of  the 
province  than  the  institution  of  the  Agricultural  Society,  and 
from  if  we  are  already  reaping  the  most  beneficial  results.  It 
has  stirred  up  a  spirit  of  emulation  in  a  large  class  of  people,  who 
were  very  supine  in  their  method  of  cultivatlug  their  lands; 
who,  ii^ead  of  in^,roving  th^n,  and  making  them  produioe  Jiot 
only  the  largest  quantity  of  grain,  but  that  of  the  best  quality, 
V.  jre  quite  contented  if  they  reaped  enough  from  their  slovenly 
idrming  to  supply  the  wants  of  their  family,  of  a  very  inferior 
sort. 

£[iQ|e;.ird  behold  a  laudable  struggle  among  the  tillers  of  the 


^,l\ 


■'^-.i-^ 


MfS   IV  TBB  OLKARiatjQB^ 


m 


iioiil,.a»  to  which-  4ta^  se^  the  best  Bpeoimmf  of  good  has- 
iMudry  to  contend  for  the^pcizes  at  the  provincial  shows,  where 
very  large  sums  of  money  are  upended  in  providing  handsome 
preminms  for  the  victors.  All  the  leading  men  in  the  province 
are  members  of  this  tr^ly  honourable  institution ;  mid  maaj  of 
them  send  horses,  and  the  growth  of  their  gardMis,  to  add  to  the 
general  bustle  and  e;Koitement  of  the  scene.  The  summer  before 
last,  inyhuslband  took  the  second  prize  for  wheat  at  the  pro- 
vincial ^ow,  OQd  I, must  frankly  own  that  I  felt  as  proud  of  it 
as  if  |t  ]^  been,  the  Bua^  sum  b«»towed  upon  a  prize  poem. 

There  -wm  an  immense  disi^y  o^  ^>urm  produce  on  the  present 
occasion  at  Toronto,  all  ezcellMit  in  their  kind.  The  J^'^ricul- 
turol  Hall,  a  large,  temporary  building  of  boards,  was  completely 
filled  with  the  fruits  of  the  earth  and  the  products  of  the  dairy — 

.    •  "A  glorious  sii^  if  glory  dw«Ui  below, 

Wlj^eve  beavea'a  mnnifi^ence  makes  all  the  show." 


The  most  delicious  butter  and  tempting  cheese,  quite  equal, 
perhaps,^  to  the  renowned  British  in  every  thing  but  the  name, 
were.displayed  in  the  greatest  abundance. 

A  Mr.  Hhram  Banney,  from  the  Brook  district,  contributed  a 
monster  cheese,  weighing  7  owt.,  not  mode  oi'  double  skimmed 
sky-blue,"  but  of  milk  of  the  richest  quality,  which,  from  its  size 
and  appearance^  might  have  feasted  all  the  rats  and  mice  in  the 
province  fbr.  the  next  twelve  months.  It  was  larga  enough  to 
liave  made  the  good  old  deity  of  heathen  times — ^her  godship  of 
the  earth — an  agrienltural  throne ;  while  from  the  floral  hoU, 
olose  at  hand,  a  crown  could  have  been  \voven,  on  the  shortest, 
notice,  of  the  choicest  buds  from  her  own  inexhaustible 
treasury. 

A  great  quantity  of  fine  fimc  and  hemp  particularly  attracted 
my  attention.  Both  grow  admirably  in  this  country,  and  at  no 
very  distant  period  will  form  staple  articles  for  home  manufac- 
ture and  foreign  export. 

The  vast  improvement  in  home-mannfactnred  doth,  blankets, 
flannds,  shawls,  carpeting,  and  counterpane^  was  very  apparent 


^ 


Liri  nt  THK  oixARiiroB. 


orer  the  samo  articles  in  former  yean.  In  *  short  time  Oanada 
need  not  be  beholden  to  any  foreign  oonntry  for  artides  of  com- 
fort and  convenience.  In  these  things  her  real  wealth  and 
strength  are  shown ;  and  -we  may  well  angnr  from  what  she  has 
already  achieved  in  this  Une,  how  mnch  more  she  can  do— and 
do  well—  vith  credit  and  profit  to  herself. 

The  sheep  in  Canada  are  not  sabjeot  to  the  diseases  which 
carry  off  so  many  yearly  in  Britain ;  and  thongh  these  animals 
have  to  be  housed  daring  the  winter,  they  are  a  very  r'^^fitable 
stock.  The  Oanadian  grass-fed  mutton  is  not  so  large  u.  it  is  in 
England,  and  in  flavour  and  teztore  more  nearly  resembles  the 
Boolch.  It  bos  more  of  a  yonng  flavour,  and,  to  my  thinking, 
affords  a  more  wholesome,  profitable  article  of  consumption. 
Beef  is  very  inferior  to  the  British ;  but  since  the  attention  of 
the  people  has  been  more  intently  directed  to  their  agricultural 
interrats,  there  is  a  decided  improvement  in  this  respect,  and 
the  condition  of  all  tlie  meat  sent  to  market  now-a-days  is  ten 
per  cent,  better  than  the  lean,  bard  animals,  we  used  to  pur- 
chase for  winter  provisions,  when  we  first  came  to  the 
province. 

At  that  time  they  had  a  race  of  pigs,  tall  and  gaunt,  with  fierce, 
bristling  manes,  that  wandered  about  the  roads  and  woods, 
seeking  what  they  could  devour,  like  famished  wolves.  Yon 
might  have  pronounced  them,  without  any  great  stretch  of 
imagination,  descended  from  the  same  stock  into  which  the 
attendant  fiends  that  possessed  the  poor  maniacs  of  Galilee  had 
been  cast  so  many  ages  ago.  I  knew  a  gentleman  who  was 
attacked  in  the  bush  by  a  sow  of  this  ferocious  breed,  who 
fairly  treed  him  in  the  woods  of  Douro,  and  kept  him  on  Jus 
uncomfortable  perch  during  several  hours^  until  his  swinish 
enemy's  patience  was  exhausted,  and  she  had  to  give  up  her 
supper  of  human  flesh  for  the  more  natural  products  of  the 
forest,  acorns  and  beech-mast. 

Talking  of  pigs  and  sheep  recalls  to  my  mind  an  amusing 
anecdote,  told  to  me  by  a  resident  of  one  of  our  back^townships, 
which  illustrates,  even  in  a  cruel  act  of  retaliation,  the  dry 
humour  which  so  strongly  characterizes  the  lower  class  of 


ura  nr  m  oLiARnios. 


888 


emigrants  from  the  emerald  islo.    I  will  give  it  in  my  yonng 
fHend'«  own  words : — 

"  In  one  of  onr  back  townshipe  there  lived  an  old  Dntohmanf 
wlio  was  of  snch  a  vindiotive  temper  that  none  of  his  neigh- 
hoars  coald  remain  in  peace  with  him.  He  made  the  owners 
of  the  next  farm  so  miserable  that  they  were  obliged  to 
sell  ont,  and  leave  the  place.  The  furm  passed  through  many 
bands,  and  at  last  became  vacant,  for  no  one  oonld  stay  on  it 
more  than  a  few  months;  they  were  so  worried  and  annoyed 
by  this  spitefhl  old  man,  who,  upon  the  slightest  occasion, 
threw  down  their  fences  and  i^jnred  their  cattle.  In  short,  the 
poor  people  began  to  sospeot  that  he  was  the  devil  himself,  sent 
among  them  as  a  punishment  for  their  sins. 
"^  ^**  At  last  an  Irish  emigrant  lately  ont  was  offered  the  ^.lace 
very  cheap,  and  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  boaght  it,  in  spite  of 
the  bad  haraeter^  for  the  ftitnre  residence  of  himself  and 
fi&mily. 

^*  He  had  not  been  long  on  the  new  place  when  one  of  his 
sheep,  which  had  got  through  a  hole  in  the  Dntohman's  fence, 
came  hobbling  home  with  one  of  its  legs  stuck  through  the 
other.  Now,  you  must  know  that  this  man,  who  was  so  active 
in  punishing  the  trespasses  of  his  neighbours'  cattle  and  stock, 
was  not  at  all  particular  in  keeping  his  own  at  home.  There 
happened  to  be  an  old  sow  of  his,  who  was  very  fond  of  Pat's 
potaties,  and  a  constant  throuble  to  him,  just  then  in  the  field 
when  the  sheep  came  home.  Pat  took  the  old  sow  (not  very 
tenderly,  I'm  afraid)  by  the  ear,  and  drawing  ont  his  jack-knife, 
very  deliberately  slit  her  month  on  either  si()«-  &>'  far  as  he  conld. 
By  and  by,  the  old  Dutchman  came  puffing  ana  blowing  along ; 
and  seeing  Pat  sitting  upon  his  door-step,  enjoying  the  evening 
air,  and  comfortably  smoking  his  pi^,  bu  asked  him  if  he  had 
seen  anything  of  his  sow  ? 

"*Well,  neighbour,"  said  Pat,  putting  on  one  of  his  gravest 
faces,  '  one  of  the  strangest  things  happened  a  short  while  ago 
that  I  ever  saw.  A  sheep  of  mine  came  home  with  its  leg  slit 
and  the  other  put  through  it,  and  your  old  sow  was  so  amused 
with  the  odd  sight  that  she  split  her  jaws  with  laughing.'  "   "  v. 


V^v 


IVn.V/l  fWM  Q|aABXH08» 


?1« 


This  torned  the  tablea  upon  the  vgituM  old  mUf  aod  com- 
pletely oared  him  of  all  his  Ul-natored  tricks.  He  is  now  one  of 
the  beat  neighbours  in  the  townsbip.. 

This  was  but  a  poor  reparation  to  the  poor  ^h^p  and. the  old 
sow.  Their  suflbrings  appear  to  b%v»  been  regarded  by  both 
parties  as  a  Yery  jninor  ocmsideratioa. 

The  hall  set  q;>art  for  the  display  of  hxicy  work  and  the  fine 
arts  appeared  to  be  the  great  oeatre  of  attraction,  for  it  was 
almost  impossible  to  foroe  your  way  through  the  dense  crowd, 
or  catch  a  i^mpse  of  the  pictures  exhibited  by  native  artiatti. 
The  show  of  these  -^as  highly  creditable  indeed.  Eight  pictures, 
illustrative  of  Indian  scenery,  character,  and  customs,  by  Kr. 
Paul  Kane,  would  have  done  honour  to  any  exhibition.  For 
correctness  of  design,  beauty  of  colpuring^  and  a  fUthAil  re|ffe- 
sentation  of  the  peculiiAr  scenery  of  this-  continent,  they, oonld 
scarcely  be  surpassed. 

I  stood  for  a  long  time  intently  examining  these  interesting 
pictures,  when  a  tall  fellow,  in  the  grey  h<miespun  of  the  coun- 
try, who,  I  suppose,  thought  tliat  I  had  had  my  share  of  ei\}Qy- 
ment  in  that  department,  very  oodly  iock  me  by  the  shoulden*, 
pulled  me  back  into  the  crowd,  and  possessed  himself  of  ri^y 
vacant  place.  This  man  should  have  formed  a  class  with  the 
two  large  tame  bears  exhibited  on  the  ground  appropriated  to 
the  poultry;  but  I  rather  think  that  Bruin  and  his  brother 
would  have  been  ashamed  of  having  him  ad^ed  to  their  frater- 
nity ;  seeing  that  their  conduct  was  quite  unexceptionable,  and 
tiiey  could  have  set  a  good  example  to  numbers  of  the  human 
bipeds,  who  pushed  and  elbowed  Arom  side  to  side  anything  that 
obstructed  their  path,  while  a  little  common  courtesy  would 
have  secured  to  themselves  and  others  a  far  better  opportunity  of 
examining  everything  carefully.  The  greatest  nuisance  in  this 
respect  was  a  multitude  of  small  children,  who  yrere  completely 
hidden  in  the  press,  and  whose  feet,  hands,  and  head,  dealt 
blows,  agunst  which  it  was  impossible  to  protect  yourself,  as 
you  felt  severely  without  being  able  to  ward  off  their  ho|ne- 
thruBts.  It  is  plain  that  they  could  not  «m  at  a1>,  bvt  were 
determined  that  every  one  suOuld  eeniibly/vvv  their  disappcint^ 


tarn  x^  Tu  ox«iA9i«oi« 


fiftA 


am^  i;t  WM  ln99Mi)>l«  to  stop  ibr  a  mom^al  to  •xamlne  tb)a 
VkQtt  interestiag  portipn  of  tho  Ejchib^tion;  and  ouo  was  r«aUy 
glad  to  force  a  p^asage  out  of  the  prew  into  tl^e  firee  lOv. 

Large  placards  were  pasted  about  in  the  )uno4t<  oouspionous 
plaoos,  warning  visitors  to  the  gronnds  to  look  out  Ibr  pioli- 
pookots !  Every  one  was  on  the  alert  to  discover  those  gentry—^ 
expecting  thenif  I  suppose,  to  he  classed  like  the  animal  auil 
vegetable  productions  of  the  soil ;  and  the  vidcity  of  a  knowing- 
looking,  long-bearded  pedlar,  who  was  soiling  **  Yankee  Notions" 
at  tlie  top  of  his  voice,  and  always  surrounds^  by  a  great  mob, 
was  con«idered  tlie  most  likelj  locality  for  these  invisible  person- 
ages, who,  I  firmly  believe,  existed  alone  in  the  fancy  of  tlio 
authors  of  the  aforesaid  plaoards. 

There  was  a  very  flnp.. display. of  the  ipipiroved  .and  foroigi^ 

^      br^edsio^  poi4try ;  <mb4  a  mt  of.UUe  Irieb  lomusoiiiH^of.  the  tk^wev 

i      oh^, were  ampiing  themselves  by  iniMirting  the  bowls  of  their 

pipee,into  tlie  pens  that  contained  t^Mse  noble  fowls,  and  giving 

them  the  benoflt  of  a  good  smoking.    The  intoxicating  effects 

of  the  fames  ot  the  tobacco  npon  the  poor  creatures  appeared  to 

.  afford  their  tormentors  the  greatest  entertainment.    The  statoly 

Ooohin-Ohina  cocks  shook  their  plumed  heads,  and  turned  up 

their  beaks  with  unmistakable  signs  of  annoyance  and  disgust ; 

and  two  fine  fowls  that  were  lying  dead  outside  the  pens,  were 

probably  killed  by  this  novel  sport. 

I  was  greatly  struck  by  the  appearance  of  Okah  Tnbeo,  the 
celebrated  Indian  doctor,  who  was  certainly  the  most  coosplou- 
ous-looking  person  in  the  show,  and  on  a  less  public  occasion 
would  have  drawn  a  large  number  of  spectators  on  his  own 
hook. 

Okah  Tubee  Is  a  broad,  stout,  powerfiilly  built  man,  with  a 
large  fat  face,  set  off  to  tho  least  possible  advantage  by  round 
rings  of  braided  hair,  tiod  with  blue  ribbons,  and  with  largo  gold 
ear-rings  in  his  eors.  Now,  it  certainly  is  truo  that  a  man  has  a 
perfect  right  to  dress  his  hair  in  this  fashion,  or  in  any  fashion 
lie  pleases;  but  a  more  absurd  appearanco  than  tho  bluo  ribbous 
gavo  to  his  broad,  brown,  beardless  face,  it  is  impossiblo  to 
imagine.    Thftsole^^i  dignity,  toOiJ^ltjiWiiioh  he  carried  off 


266 


UFS  IN  TBE  OLVARINOS. 


this  tomfoolery  was  not  the  least  laughable  part  of  it.  I  wonder 
whio>  of  his  wives — for  I  was  told  he  had  several — ^braided  all 
these  small  rings  of  hair,  and  confined  them  with  the  blue  love 
knots ;  bat  it  is  more  than  prob&ble  that  the  grave  Indian  per- 
formed his  own  tdlet.  His  blue  surtont  and  beaver  hat  accorded 
ill  with  his  Indian  legi^igs  and  moccasins.  I  must  think  that 
the  big  man's  dress  was  in  shoduog  bad  taste,  and  a  decided 
failure.  I  missed  tiie  sight  of  him  carrying  a  flag  in  the  pro- 
cession, and  mounted  on  horsebaek;  if  his  riding-dress  matched 
his  walkihg  costnmei,  it  must  have  been  rieh. 

Leaving  the  show-ground,  we  next  directed  our  steps  to  the 
Ladies'  Bazaar,  that  was  held  in  the  government  buildings,  and 
here  we  found  a  nimiber  of  weU-dressed,  elegant  women,  sitting 
like  Mathew  at  the  receipt  of  custom;  it  is  to  be  hoped  that 
their  labors  of  love  received  an  ample  recompense,  and  that  the 
sale  of  their  {uretty  toys  completely  discharged  the  debt  that  had 
been  incurred  for  their  favorite  sdnt.  Nor  was  the  glory  of  old 
En^^d  likely  to  be  forgotten  amid  such  a  display  of  national 
flags  as  adorned  the  spadous  apartm^t. 

V      s  THE  B-AlNNER  OF  ENGLAND. 

"  The  ban»or  of  old  England  flows 

Triumphant  in  the  breeze—  V 

A  sign  of  terror  td  our  foes, 

The  naeteor  of  the  seas. 
A  thousand  heroes  bore  it 

la  battle-fields  of  old ; 
All  nations  quail'd  before  it,  ^ 

Defended  by  the  bold. 


"  Brave  ^.dvjv.^rd  and  his  gallant  sons 
Beneath  its  shadow  bled ; 

And  lion-hearted  Britons 
That  flag  to  glory  led. 

The  sword  of  kings  defended, 
When  hostile  foes  drew  near ; 

The  sheet  whose  colors  bended— 


i!ii     5S.=^.S-J 


uemonaui  prouu  ana  usar ! 


UFBS  IN  THS  OLBARINQS. 

"  The  hist'ry  of  a  nation 

Ib  blazon'd  on  its  page, 
A  brief  and  bright  relation 

Sent  down  firom  age  to  age. 
O'er  Oallia'e  hoits  viotorioiu, 

It  turn'd  their  pride  of  yore , 
Its  fame  on  earth  ia  glorious, 

Benowtt'd  from  shore  to  shore. 

*'  The  soldier's  heart  has  bounded 

When  o'er  the  tide  of  war ; 
Where  death's  brief  ciy  resounded, 

It  flash'd  a  blazing  star. 
Or  floating  over  leaguer'd  wall, 

limet  his  lifted  eye ; 
Like  war^hone  to  the  trumpet's  call, 

He  rush'd  to  victory  1 

"  No  son  of  Briton  e'er  will  see 

A  foreign  band  advance. 
To  seize  the  sttodard  of  the  firee 

That  dared  the  might  of  France. 
Bright  banner  of  our  native  land, 

Bold  hearts  are  knit  to  thee; 
A  hardy,  brave,  determined  band, 

Thy  dliarnpions  yet  shall  be !" 


951 


268 


UFB  IN  TBB  0LBARINQ8. 


CHAPTER  XVn. 


4*  Oome  wad  Worthip  at  a  shrine, 
Bear'd  by  hands  eterna  \, 
Where  the  flashing  waten  shine, 

And  the  tairf  is  ever  Ternal, 
And  nature's  eterfasting  voiee 
Vor  ever  cries— vDJoice,  rcjeioe  t" 


0*  u* 


Tub  night  had  heen  one  of  pouring  rain,  and  the  day  dawned 
through  a  thick  veil  of  xnifiity  donds,  on  the  morning  of  which 
we  were  to  start  frfjm  Toronto  to  visit  the  Falls  of  iN'iagara. 

"It  is  always  80>"  I  thonght^  as  I  tried  to  peer  through  the 
dense  mist  that  floated  roimd  the  spire  of  ^t.  George's  ohnroh,  in 
order  to  read  wha1<  proouse  there  might  Inrk  hehind  its  grey 
folds  of  a  fine  day.  "  "What  we  most  wish  for  is,  for  some  wise 
purpose  inscratahle  to  our  narrow  vision,  generally  withheld. 
Bn*-  it  may  clear  np,  after  all.  At  all  events,  we  most  bide  the 
chance  and  make  the  ea^riment." 

By  seven  o'clock,  we  were  on  board  the  "Chief  Justice,'*  one 
of  the  steamers  that  daily  ply  between  Toronto  and  Queenstone 
A  letter  that  I  got,  In  passing  the  post-office,  fh)m  the  dear  chil- 
di'en  at  home,  diverted  my  thoughts  for  a  long  while  from  the 
duU  sky  and  drizzling  rain ;  and  when  it  had  been  read  and 
re-read^  and  pondored  over  for  some  time,  and  God  inwardly 
thanked  for  the  a)Taotion  that  breathed  in  every  line,  and  the 
good  news  it  contained,  the  unpromising  mist  had  all  cleared 
away,  and  the  sun  was  casting  bright  silvery  gleams  across  the 
broad  bosom  of  the  beantifhl  Ontario. 

We  did  not  meet  with  &  solitary  adventnre  on  our  verv  nlea- 


LIVB  IN  T^K  0UBABIM08. 


269 


sant  voyage;  the  dleep bliie  antimmal .sky,  and  th9  gently-onda- 
latlng  waters,  forming  the  ohief  attraction,  and  ^ving  rise  to 
pleasant  trains  of  thonght,  till  the  spirit  blended  and  harmonized 
with  the  grand  and  simple  elements  that  composed  the  scene. 

There  were  no  passengers  in  the  ladies'  cabin,  aii4  we  never 
left  the  deck  of  the  steamer  nntil  she  oame  to  her  wharf  at 
Qaeenstcne. 

The  lake,  for  some  miles  before  yon  reach  the  entrance  of  the 
Niagara  river,  assumes  a  yellowish-green  tint,  quite  difierent 
from  the  ordinary  deep  blue  of  its  waters.  This  is  probably 
owing  to  the  vast  quantity  of  soil  washed  down  by  the  rapids 
from  the  high  lands  above. 

The  captain  told  us  that,  after  a  storm  such  as  we  experienced' 
on  the  preceding  nir;ht,  this  appeai-ance,  though  it  always  ex- 
isted, was.  more  apparent,  You  cateh  a  distant  glance  of  the 
Ealls  from  this  part  of  the  lake ;  but  it  is  only  in  the  nh&pe  of  a 
light  sUveiy  cloud  hovering  on  the  edge  of  the  horizon.  W& 
listened  in  vtun  for  any  sound  to  ^ve  us  anindioaition  (€  thdir 
near  vicinity.  The  voice  of  nature  was  mute.  The  roar  of  the 
great  cataract  was  not  distinguishable  at  that  distance. 

The  entrance  to  the  Niagara  river  is  very  interesting.  Yoir 
pass  between  the  two  strong  stone  forts,  raised  for  the  protection 
of  their  respective  countries ;  and  a  hostile  vessel  woidd  stand 
but  a  small  chance  of  keeping  dear  from  danger  in  paasing  either 
Cerberus.  It  is  devoutlyto  ,be  hoped  that-all  stich  difficulties 
will  be  avoided,  by  the  opposite  shores  remaining  firm  friends 
and  allies. 

The  town  of  Niagara  is  a  quaint,  old-£ashioned  looking  place, 
and  belongs  more  to  the  past  than  the  present  Oar.;  da;  for  it 
'has  not  made  much  progress  since  it  ceased,  to  be  the  capital  of 
the  Upper  Province,  in  spite  of  its  very  advantageous  and  beau- 
tiful locality. 

As.  you  approach  Queen^ton^  the  river  is  much  contracted  in 
ite  dimensions,  and  its  banks  assume  a  bole"    >\d  lofty  appear- 
ance, till  they  fiown  down  upon  the  waters  in  stem  and  solemn 
'gra^'il'^ur,  and  impart  a  wild  romimtio  oharaotor  to  the  scene,  not' 
often  found  in  the  Upper  Proviacv. 


4>-: 


960 


hVm  IN  TBI:    v'LBAKlirOB. 


y 


I  never  bj:^'  v^  9117  wfttetr  that  resembled  the  deep  green  of  the 
Niagara.  Th^^  Jiay  be  owing,  perhaps,  to  the  immense  depth 
of  the  rivei',  the  oolor  of  tiie  rocks  orer  which  it  flowis,  oi'  il 
may  be  reflected  from  the  beaut.  itU.  trees  Mid  6hnibs  that  cit  ihe 
its  preoipitona  banks ;  bnt  it  mmiu  strike  every  person  who  Prfit; 
gazes  upon  it  as  very  remtuiable.  Ton  cannot  look  loi^n  ^<'.t«  ^, 
it,  for  it  is  not  pellncid  but  opaqtie  in  its  ::;ppe>irftnci .,  and  rpas 
with  &  smooth  Biirfiwe  more  reBemj;Hng  oil  ihf>.:i  water.         ^ 

Tne  waters  of  theBt.  Lawrence  a'^e  a  jpalc  :  .o^green,  and  so 
tt«tmij>&7<«^4tly  clear  that  yon  see  thiough  them  to  a  great  debth. 
At  i  imrif  3  and  sunset,  they  take  all  tbc>  hues  of  (he  <  pal.  The 
Ottawa  i  a  deep  bine.  The  Otonsibee  looks  black,  froiii  ihA  i-aa-k 
llmt)si  uie  h^'l  ov«:"?  ivMch  it  ifma  mH  rashes.  Our  own  Moira 
is  of  a  al!v«ry  cr  <  '.ivjiv  hjm^  btt  fi'ie  waters  of  the  Niagara  are 
a  biightdi'ep  green;  aa\  Mci  aay  paiutw  venture  to  transfw 
their  singdac  'Aolor  tc  ;.  U  6n«iv«ia,  it  would  be  oonsiderect  extra- 
vag>iint  and  itDp^-iidbiv; 

Xhv;  new  BuK|.^moja  Bridge  atQucenstone  is  a  beantiflil  object 
flrom  the  watcs'.  The  river  here  is  iJix  hundred  feet  in  ividth; 
tbe  space  U>t.'veen  the  two  atone  towers  that  support  the  bridge 
ou  either  dhorc  !s  dght  hundred  (tnd  fifty  feet ;  the  height  above 
the  water,  two  liundred  feet.  The  towers  are  not  built  on  the 
top  of  the  bank,  but  a  {datform  for  each  hafi  been  quarried  out  of 
the  steep  oidos  of  the  predpice,  about  thirty  feet  below  the  edge 
of  tb:  olifSk  The  road  that  leads  vp  from  the  Queenstone  ferry 
has  been  formed  by  the  same  procftsu.  It  is  a  perilous  ascent, 
and  hangs  almost  over  the  river;  nor  is  there  any  sufficient 
l^arrier  tc  prevent  1  skittish  horfle  from  plunging  from  the  giddy 
height  into  the  deep,  swift  si»'eam  below.  I  should  not  like  to 
travel  this  romantic  road  of  a  dark  October  night,  even  ou  foot. 
The  Qusenatone  cab-drivers  rattle  up  and  down  this  fearfnl  path;^- 
without  paying  the  least  regard  to  the  nerves  of  their  passengersr 
At  the  entrance  to  the  bridge,  a  space  is  quarried  out  of  the 
bLuk  to  allow  heavy  teams  to  turn  on  ta  the  bridge,  wh^ah  ia^^ 
done  with  the  greatest  ease  and  safety.  *  4l|; 

Several  heavy  loaded  teams  were  crossing  from  the  otl :      !^ 
and  it  was  curious  to  »    tch  the  horses,  when  i"" '5-*      ;>  fl^t' 


':^>i 


UFB  IV  TBS  OLKARINGS. 


261 


Tibratory  moticm,  ^eaw  baok  dose  to  the  vefaiolM,  and  take  high, 
short  Btepe,  as  if  they  apprehended  some  nnknown  danger.  It 
is  snrprising  how  well  they  behave  on  this  trying  oocasion,  for  a 
horse,  thoogh  a  very  brave  ai^mal^  is  one  of  the  most  nervous 
ones  in  creation. 

These  beantifbl,  airy4ooklng  straotnrest  are  a  great  triumph 
of  mechanical  art  over  a  barrier  which  had  long  been  considered' 
as  insurmoontable,  exceipt  by  water.  Tito  ready  mode  of  com- 
munication which  by  their  meami  has  been  established  betlreen 
the  opposite  shores,  most  prove  of  iDoalenlable  advantage  toi  this 
part  of  the  colony. 

It  is  to  be  hoped  that  similar  bridges  will  soon  span  the  many 
rapid  rivers  in  Oanada.  A  sndden  spring  thaw  gives  snob 
volumd  and  power  to  most  of  the  streams,  that  tew  bridges  oon- 
structied  on  the  old  plan  are  long  able  to  redst  the  Impettiosity 
of  th^  oqrrent,  but  are  constantly  HaUe  to  be  carried  away, 
occasioning  great  damage  in  their  Tidnity. 

The  Sospensicm  Bridge,  by  being  raised  above  the  possible 
action  of  the  water,  is  liable  to  none  of  the  casualties  that 
operate  ag^nst  the  old  bridge,  whose  piers  and  arches,  though 
formed  of  solid  masonry,  are  not  proof  against  the  powerful 
battering-rams  formed  by  huge  blocks  of  ice  and  heavy  logs  of 
wood,  fttded  by  the  violent  opposing  force  of  the  Current. 

The  light  and  graeeftil  proportions  of  the  Suspension  Bridge 
add  a  great  charm  to  the  beauty  of  this  charming  landscape.  It 
is  well  worth  paying  a  visit  to  !Niiagara,  If  it  possessed  no  object 
of  greater  interest  in  its  neighbourhood  than  t^ese  wonderful 
structures. 

The  village  of  Quernstone  is  built  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  is 
a  very  pretty  ronumtio- looking  place.  Numerous  springs  wind 
like  silvery  threads  along  the  face  of  the  steep  bank  above ;  and 
and  wherever  the  waters  find  a  flat  ledge  in  their  downward 
course,  water-oregars  ^f  the  finest  quality  grow  in  abundance,  the 
spai^iiiv  .  Y/a;  cr  gnrgimg  among  their  juicy  leaves,  and  washing 
them  Ai  emerald  br./^htaess.  Large  portions  of  the  cliff  are 
life  ally  covered  with  them.  It  "as  juO  small  matter  of  surjwise 
to  me  when  told  that  the  inhabiUuts  made  no  use  of  this  doUdous 


26S 


UWM  IK  THB  OIlARnrOf. 


pUttf  bat  laugh  at  tiie  eagernosa  with  -vrhioh  etrangers  seek  it 
out. 

The  Qaeenstczie  He{/;ht«,  to  the  east  of  the  village,  are  a  lofty 
lidfK  ot  land  zisiDg  tureo  himdred  ftet  above  the  level  of  the 
ooantry  bdow.  They  are  quite  as  preoipltoos  as  ^e  banks  of 
the  river.  The  railroad  winds  along  the  face  of  tMs  magnifioent 
bank.  Gigantic  tvees  tower  fax  above  yonr  head,  and  a  beautiful 
fertile  ooimtry  lies  extended  at  yonr  fset.  There,  between  its 
ragged  banki,  winds  the  glorious  river;  and,  beyond  forest  and 
pl^D,  glitters  tiie  Ontario  against  the  horizon,  like  a  mimio 
ocean,  blending  its  blue  waters  with  the  azure  ocean  of  heaven. 
Truly  it  is  a  magnificent  sooie,  and  associated  with  the  most 
interesting  bistwical  eventa  connected  with  the  province. 

BrooVs  monument,  which  yon  pass  on.  the  road,  »  a  melan- 
choly looking  min,  bftt  by  no  means  a  plctnresqne  one,  resembling 
some  tiall  chimney  that  has  been  left  standii^  after  the  house  to 
which  it  belonged  had  been  bnrnt  down. 

Some  time  ago  snbscripticms  wore  set  <hi  fo<^  to  collect  money 
to  rebuild  this  monummit;  l^it  the  rock  on  which  it  stands  is, 
after  all,  a  more  enduring  mozaimait  to  the  memory  of  the  hero, 
than  any  perishable  stracture  raised  to  commemorate  the  despe- 
rate struggle  that  terminated  on  thfe  spot.  As  long  as  the  beigh.'s 
of  Qneenstone  remain,  a&d  the  river  pours  its  swift  current 
to  mingle  with  tiie  Ontario,  the  name  of  Qeneral  B  Tck  wiH  bo 
associated  with  the  scene.  The  noblest  tablet  on  which  the 
deeds  of  a  great  man  can  be  engraved,  is  cm  the  heart  oi  iiia 
grateful  country. 

Were  a  new  monument  erected  on  this  spot  to-morrow,  it  is 
more  than  probable  that  it  would  share  the  fate  of  its  predeces- 
sor, and  some  patriotic  American  would  consider  it  an  act  of 
doty  to  the  great  Bepnblic  to  dash  it  out  of  creation 

From  Queenstone  we  took  a  carrii^e  on  to  Niagara,  a  distance 
of  about  eight  miles,  'jver  good  roads,  and  through  a  {feasant, 
smiling  tract  of  country.  This  part  of  the  province  might  juatly 
be  termed  the  garden  of  Oanada,  and  partakes  more  of  the  soft 
«nd  rich  character  of  English  scenery. 

The  groimd  rises  snd  faWs  in  geatla  dop»9 ;  the  fine  meadows, 


Un  n  TBI  0LBA1UN08. 


entinly  free  from  the  odiong  bbok  itnnipe,  are  ftdoraed  witb 
groups  of  noble  ohestnut  and  black  walnut  trees ;  and  the  peaoh 
and  apple  orchards  in  ftdl  bearing,  otuirtering  around  the  neat 
homeateacto,  ^ve  to  them  an  appeanmoe  (^  wealth  and  oomfort, 
which  catmbt  exist  for  many  yean  to  oome  in  tmim  remote 
districta. 

The  aar  on  these  high  table  lands  is  very  pare  and  elastic ;  and 
I  could  not  help  wishing  for  some  good  fliiry  to  remoye  my  little 
cottage  into  one  of  the  fiilr  MioloBures  we  passed  continually  by 
the  roadsides  '>^^  P^^  it  beneath  the  shade  of  some  of  the 
beauiiftil  trees  that  adorned  erery  h«ld<. 

Here,  for  tiie  first  time  in  Oanada,  I  observed  hedges  of  the 
Oaeadian  thorn — a  great  improvement  on  the  old  snake  fence  of 
rough  i^lit  timber  which  prevMls  all  throngh  the  colony.  What 
a  difference  it  would  make  in  the  at^ect  of  the  country  \i  these 
green  hedgerows  Were  in  general  use  I  It  woidd  take  from  the 
savage  barrenness  given  to  it  by  these  crooked  wooden  lines 
that  cross  and  recross  the  country  in  aH  directions — ^no  object  can 
be  less  picturesque,  or  more  impleasing  to  the  eye.  A  new  clear- 
ing  rfiminds  one  of  a  lai^e  turirlp  field,  divided  by  hurdles  bi.  > 
different  compartments  for  the  feeding  of  cueep  and  cattile.  Often, 
for  miles  on  a  stretch,  there  is  scarcely  a  tree  or  bush  to  relieve 
the  blank  monotony  of  these  ugly,  uncouth  pturtitions  of  land, 
beyond  charred  stumps  and  rank  weed8,'and  the  uniform  belt  of 
forest  at  the  back  of  the  new  fields. 

The  Canadian  outs  down,  but  rarely  plants  trees,  which  cir- 
cnuBtanoe  accounts  for  the  blank  look  of  desolation  that  pervades 
all  new  settlements.  A  few  young  maples  and  rock  elms,  planted 
along  the  roadsides,  would,  at  a  very  small  expense  of  laoour,  in 
a  very  few  years  remedy  this  ugly  feature  in  the  Canadian  lar;  '- 
scape,  and  afiford  a  grateful  shade  to  the  weary  traveller  fro  ^ 
the  scorching  heat  of  the  summer  sun. 

In  old  countries,  where  landed  property  ofben  remains  for  ages 
in  the  same  family,  the  present  occupant  plants  and  improves  for 
future  generalions,  hoping  that  bis  sons^  sons  may  esjoy  the  frxdt 
of  his  laborp  But  in  a  new  country  like  this,  where  property 
iscoBstaL'       jonging  owners.no  osfe  mism 


t0  think  it  w««bu 


264 


Uri  IN  TBI  OLKAJUMOS. 


, ''I 


-their  while  to  take  any  trouble  to  add  to  the  beauty  of  a  plaoe 
for  the  benefit  of  Btnwgen. 

Most  of  our  aeoond  growth  of  trees  have  been  planted  by  the 
beantiftil  hand  of  natarr.  ■'^H^  4jr>  ii.  /ing  ont  her  oanning  work, 
generally  does  it  in  t).-.  mo^tt .  v  xitageoaB  manner ;  and  ohanoe 
or  aoddent  has  anfWd  the  trees  to  remain  on  the  apot  flrom 
whence  they  sprang. 

Trees  that  gi'ow  in  open  spaoea  after  Uie  forest  has  been  cleared 
away,  are  as  grt^eftil  and  umbrageons  as  ^^n**  t>lanted  in  parks 
at  home.  The  forest  trees  seldoc\  pvioei^  ao^  gre..:  beauty  of 
outline ;  tliey  run  all  to  top,  and  throw  out  few  lateral  branches. 
There  is  r  '<  a  tree  in  the  woods  that  could  afford  the  least  shelter 
during  a  s  .  uii  shower  of  rain.  They  are  so  closely  packed  to- 
gether in  tacse  dense  forests,  that  a  very  small  amount  of  foliage,  ^ 
for  the  aizo  and  length  of  the  trunk,  is  to  be  found  on  any  indi-  i 
vidual  tree.  One  wood  is  the  exact  picture  of  another ;  the  uni- 
formity dreary  in  the  extreme.  There  are  no  green  vistas  to  be 
seen ;  no  grassy  glades  beneath  the  bosky,  oaks,  on  which  the 
deer  browse,  anJ  the  gigantic  shadows  sleep  in  tiie  sunbeams. 
A  stem  array  of  rugged  trunks,  a  tangled  maase  of  scrubby  undc 
brnsh,  carpeted,  winter  and  summer,  with  a  thick  layer  of 
withered  buff  leaves,  furm  the  general  features  of  a  Oanadian 
forest.  ^ 

A  few  flowers  toroe  their  heads  through  this  thick  covering  of 
leaves,  and  make  glad  with  their  hoauty  the  desolate  wilderness: 
but  those  who  look  for  au  AroadiH  of  fruits  aud  flowers  in  the 
backwoods  of  Canada  ^  s^nnot  I'lcl  of  disa;  ;)ointmeat.  Some  local- 
ities, it  is  true,  are  more  favored  thai>  othei's,  {specially  those 
sandy  tracts  of  tabic  ^  id  that  are  called  plains  in  this  country ; 
the  trees  are  more  scatt*^  "-^-ii^  and  the  gr'>tuid  roceir^s  the  benefit 
of  light  and  punahine. 

Flowers — those  precious  gifts  of  God — «'  not  delight  la  dark- 
ness and  shade,  and  this  is  one  ^  -at  ic^isoa  why  they  are  so 
scarce  in  the  woods.  I  saw  m. ..  )eati  ifol  blo.'soms  waving 
above  the  ISfiagara  rivei-,  from  evt  r>  crt  ioe  in  its  rooky  banks, 
^^  r^u  I  ever  beheld  during  my  long  residence  in  the  hush.  These 
lovely  children  of  light  seem  peculiarly  to  rejoice  in  their  near 


» 


UFB  IK  THJE 


SARINOS. 


266 


vicinity  to  water,  th«  open  dpaoe  allowed  to  the  wide  rirerH 
affording  tl  dm  the  air  and  sanshine  deided  to  them  in  the  doeo 
atmosphere  of  tho  dense  woods. 

The  first  sight  we  caught  of  the  Falls  of  Niagara  was  from  thd 
top  of  the  hill  that  lead^  directly  into  tho  village.  I  had  been 
intently  examining  the  rare  shrahs  and  beantlAil  flowers  that 
grer  in  an  exquisite  garden  surrounding  a  very  fine  mansion  on 
ray  right  hand,  perfectly  astonished  at  their  luxuriance,  and  the 
omersJd  greeimess  of  the  turf  at  that  season,  which  had  been  one 
of  unprecedented  drought,  when,  on  raidng  my  head,  tlie  great 
cataract  burst  on  my  sight  witi  jut  any  intervening  screen,  pro- 
ducing an  overwhelming  sensation  in  my  mind  which  amounted 
to  pain  in  its  intensity. 

Yea,  the  great  object  of  n^y  journey— one  of  the  fondest  anti- 
oipatioHA  of  my  life — was  vt  length  accomplished;  and  for  a 
moment  the  blood  recoiled  back  to  my  heart,  and  a  tremulous 
thrill  raa  through  my  whole  frame.  I  was  so  bewildered — so 
taken  by  surprise — ^that  every  feeling  was  absorbed  in  the  one 
consciuuKiess,  that  the  sublime  vision  was  before  me ;  that  I  had 
at  last  »een  Niagara;  that  it  was  mine  for  ever,  stereotyped 
upon  i  iieart  by  t^e  unerring  hand  of  nature,  producing  an  im- 
presaiuu  which  nothing  but  madness  or  idiotcy  coald  efibce! 

It  was  some  seconds  before  I  could  collect  my  thoughts,  or 
concentrate  my  attention  sufficiently  to  identify  one  of  its  gigan- 
tic fcii  ires.  The  eye  crowds  all  into  the  one  glance,  and  tho 
eager  ad  is  too  much  dazzled  and  intoxicated  for  minor  detdls . 
Astoniblimenx.  and  admiration  are  succeeded  by  curious  exami- 
nation and  enjoyment ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  reidise  this  at  first. 
The  tumultuous  rush  of  feeling,  the  excitement  occasioned  by  the 
grand  spectacle,  must  subside  liefore  you  can  draw  a  freo  breath, 
and  have  time  for  thought. 

The  American  Fall  was  directly  opposite,  resembling  a  vast 
rolling  cylinder  of  light  fashing  through  clouds  of  silvery  mist, 
and  casting  from  it  lon^  rays  of  indescribable  brightness.  I  never 
could  realise,  in  this  p  ifect  image  of  a  living  and  perpetual  mo- 
tion, h/all  of  waters ;  it  always  had,  to  my  eyes,  this  majestic, 
solemn,  rotatory  movement,  when  seen  from  the  bank  .above. 


10 


266 


Un  n   THB  OLKARIirOB. 


The  Horse^oo  Fall  is  fortb«r  oa  to  the  right,  and  yon  only  get 
a  side  view  of  it  from  this  point. 

The  Falls  are  seen  to  the  least  possible  advantage  ftom  the  brow 
of  the  steep  bank.  In  looking  down  upon  them,  yon  can  form 
no  adequate  idea  of  their  volume,  height,  and  grandeur ;  y^t  that 
first  £^anoe  can  never  be  efliioed.  Ton  feel  a  thrilling,  t^umph- 
ant  Joy,  whilst  contemplating  this  master-pieee  of  nature — 
this  snblime  idea  of  the  Eternal— (his  wonderftil  symbol  of  the 
power  and  strength  of  the  divine  Architeot  of  the  univarse. 

It  is  as  if  t^e  great  heart  of  nature  were  laid  bare  before  you, 
and  yon  saw  and  heard  all  its  gigantic  throbbings,  and  watched 
the  current  of  its  stupendous  life  flowing  perpetually  forward. 

I  cannot  imagine  how  any  one  could  be  disi^ipointed  in  this 
august  seene ;  and  the  singular  indifliorence  manifested  by  others ; 
it  is  either  a  miserable  affectation  of  singularity,  or  a  lamentable 
want  of  sensibility  to  the  grand  and  beautiful.  The  human 
being  who  could  stand  unmoved  before  the  great  cataract,  and 
feel  no  quickening  of  the  pulse,  no  silent  adoration  of  the  heart 
towards  the  Creator  of  this  wimdrous  scene,  wonld  remain  as 
indifferent  and  as  uninspired  before  the  throne  of  God  t 

Throwing  out  of  the  question  the  romantic  locality — ^the 
rugged  wooded  banks,  the  vast  blocks  of  stone  scattered  at  the 
edge  of  the  torrent,  the  magic  color  of  the  waters,  the  over> 
hancping  crags,  the  wild  flowens  waving  from  the  steep,  the  glo- 
rious hues  of  the  evernshanging  rainbow  that  spans  the  river, 
and  that  soft  cloud  of  silvery  brightness  fbr  ever  flowing 
upward  into  thf  clear  ^r,  like  the  prayer  of  fistith  ascending 
from  earth  to  heaven — the  enormous  magnitude  of  the  waters 
alone,  their  ourbless  power,  and  eternal  motion,  are  sufficient  to 
give  rise  to  feelings  of  astonishment  and  admiration  such  as 
never  were  experienced  before. 

Kot  the  leaat  of  these  sensations  is  created  by  the  deep  roar  of 
the  falliiig  torrent,  that  shakes  the  solid  rooks  beneath  your  feet, 
and  is  repeated  by  the  thousand  hidden  echoes  among  those  etem 
craggy  heights. 

It  is  impossible  for  language  to  convey  any  adequate  idea  of 
the  grandeur  of  the  FaUs,  when  seen  from  below,  either  from 


uwm  IN  ram  ouiarinos. 


m 


{he  deck  of  the  **Maid  of  the  Ifist**— the  Bmoll  BtMun«r  that 
approaches  within  a  few  yards  of  the  descending  sheet  of  tiie 
Horseshoe  Fall*— or  from  the  ferry  boat  that  plies  oontinnally 
between  the  opposite  sliores.  From  the  tVail  little  boat,  dancing 
like  a  feather  upon  the  green  swelling  snrges,  you  perhaps  form 
the  best  notion  of  the  vastness  and  magnitude  of  the  descend- 
ing waters,  and  of  yonr  own  helplessness  and  insignificance. 
They  flow  down  upon  yonr  vision  like  moving  monntains  of 
light;  and  the  shadowy  outline  of  blaok  mysterions-looking 
rooks,  dimly  seen  through  clouds  of  driving  mist,  adds  a  wild 
sublimity  to  the  scene.  While  the  boat  struggles  over  the  curl- 
ing billows,  at  times  lifted  up  by  the  ground-swells  from  below, 
the  feeling  of  danger  and  insecurity  is  lost  in  the  whirl  of  waters 
that  surround  you.  The  mind  expands  with  the  scene,  and  you 
rejoice  in  the  terrific  power  that  threatens  to  annihilate  you 
and  yonr  fairy  bark.  A  visible  presence  of  tiie  mi^esty  of  God 
is  before  you,  and,  sheltered  by  His  protecting  hand,  you  behold 
the  glorious  spectacle  and  live. 

The  dark  forests  of  pine  that  form  the  background  to  the 
Falls,  when  seen  from  above,  are  entirely  lost  from  the  surface  of 
the  river,  and  the  descending  floods  seem  te  pour  down  upon  you 
fh>m  the  skies. 

The  day  had  turned  out  as  beautiftd  as  heart  could  wish ;  and 
though  I  felt  very  much  fatigued  with  the  journey,  I  determined 
to  set  all  aches  and  pains  at  deflance  whilst  I  remained  on  this 
enchanted  ground. 

We  had  just  time  enough  to  spare  befbre  dinner  to  walk  to 
the  table  rock,  following  the  road  along  the  brow  of  the  steep 
bank.  On  the  way  we  called  in  at  the  Ouriosity  Shop,  kept  by 
an  old  grey-hahred  man,  who  had  made  Jbr  himsiEslf  a  snug  little 
Oalifornia  by  tarning  all  he  touched  into  gold ;  his  stock-in-trade 
consisting  of  geolo^cal  specimens  from  the  vioicity  of  the  Falls 
—pebbles,  plants,  stnfied  birds,  beasts,  and  sticks  out  from  the 
timber  that  grows  along  the  rocky  banks,  and  twisted  into  every 
imaginable  shape.  The  heads  of  these  canes  were  dexterously 
car'ved  to  imitate  snakes,  snapping  turtles,  eagles'  heads,  and 
Indian  faces.    Here,  the  fantastic  ends  of  the  roots  of  shrubs 


268 


Ura  IN  THB  0LSARIK08. 


from  which  they  were  made  were  out  into  A  grotesque  trimttvi- 
rate  of  legs  and  feet ;  here  a  hlaok  snake,  spotted  and  colored  to 
represent  the  horrid  reptile,  made  yon  £uioy  its  ugly  ooils 
already  twisting  in  abhorrent  folds  abont  yonr  hands  and  amm- 
There  was  no  end  to  the  old  man's  imaginative  freaks  in  this 
department,  hb  wares  beanng  a  proportionate  price  to  the  dig- 
nity of  the  location  from  which  they  were  derived. 

A  vast '  jQonnt  of  Indian  toy3,  and  artic^.es  of  dress,  made  the 
mnsenm  qnite  gay  with  their  taw^  ornaments  of  beads  and 
feathers.  It  is  ft  pleasant  lounging  place,  and  the  old  man  forms 
one  of  its  chief  attractions.. 

Proceeding  on  to  the  table  rock,  we  passed  many  beautiful 
gardens,  all  bearing  the  same  rich  tint  of  verdure,  and  glowing 
with  fruit  and  flowers.  The  showers  of  spray,  rising  fit>m  the 
vast  natural  fountain  in  their  neighborhood,  fill  the  air  with  cool 
and  refreshiug  moisture,  which  waters  these  lovely  gardens,  as 
the  mists  did  of  yore  that  went  up  from  the  faoe  of  the  earth  to 
water  the  garden  of  Eden. 

The  Hc-se-shoe  Fall  is  much  lower  than  its  twin  cataract  on 
the  American  side ;  but  what  it  loses  in  height,  it  makes  up  in 
power  and  volume,  and  the  amount  of  water  that  is  constantly 
discharged  over  it.  As  we  approached  the  table  rock,  a  rainbow 
of  splendid  dyes' spanned  the  river;  rising  from  out  the  driving 
mist  from  the  American  Fall,  until  it  melted  into  the  leaping 
snowy  foam  of  the  great  Oanadian  cataract.  There  is  a  strange 
blending,  in  this  scene,  of  beauty  and  softness  with  the  magnifier 
cent  and  the  sublimed  a  deep  sonorous  music  in  the  thundering 
of  the  mighty  floods,  (is  if  the  i^irits  of  earth  and  air  united  in 
one  solemn  choral  chant  of  praise  to  the  Creator;  the  rocks 
vibrate  to  the  living  hturmony,  and  the  shores  around  seem  hur- 
rying forward,  as  if  ira^)elled  by  the  force  of  the  descending 
torrent  of  sound.  Yet,  within  a  few  yards  of  all  this  whirlpool . 
of  conflicting  elements,  the  river  glides  onward  as  peacefully  and 
gently  as  if  it  had  not  received  into  its  mysterious  depthi*  this 
ever-falling  avalanche  of  foaming  waters. 

Here  you  enjoy  a  splendid  view  of  the  Bapids.  Raising  your 
eyes  from  the  green,  glassy  edge  of  the  Falls^  you  see  the  mad 


LIFR   IN   TUB   OLBARINOa. 


200 


hubbub  of  boiling  waves  rnsbiiig  with  headlong  fury  down  the 
wateiy  steep,  to  take  their  final  plange  into  the  mist-oovered 
abyss  below.  On,  on  .they  pome — that  white-orested  phalanx 
of  wayes — spooring  and  crowding  upon  each  other  in  frantic 
'   ohaset 

"  Things  of  life,  and  light,  and  motion, 
Spirits  of  tlxe  unfathom'd  ocean, 
Hurrying  on  with  onrbless  foroe, 
Like  somo  rash  unlnridled  horse ; 
High  in  air  their  wUte  crests  flinging. 
And  madly  to  destruction  springing." 

These  boiling  breakers  seem  to  shout  and  revol  in  a  wild  ^ 
ecstasy  of  freedom  and  power ;  and  you  feel  inclined  to  echo 
their  shout,  and  rejoice  with  them.  Yet  it  is  curious  to  mark 
how  they  daoken  their  mad  speed  when  they  reach  the  ledge  of 
the  fall,  and  melt  into  the  icy  smoothness  of  its  polished  brow, 
as  if  conscious  of  the  superior  force  that  is  destined  to  annihilate 
their  identity,  and  da^  them  into  mist  and  spray.  In  like  man- 
ner thi)  waves  of  life  are  hurried  into  the  abyss  of  death,  and 
absorbi^d  in  the  vast  ocean  of  eternity. 
^^  Niag&ra  would  be  shorn  of  iialf  its  wonders  divested  of  these 
glorious  Bapids,  which  form  one  of  the  grandest  features  in  the 

k  magnificent  scene. 

We  returned  to  our  inn,  the  Olifkon  House,  just  in  time  to 
save  our  dinner :  having  taken  breakfast  in  Toronto  at  half-past 
six,  we  were  quite  ready  to  obey  the  noity  summons  of  the  bell, 
and  follow  our  sable  guide  into  the  eating  room. 

^'     The  Clifton  House  is  a  large,  handsome  building,  directly 
fronting  the  Falls.    It  is  fitted  up  in  a  very  superior  style,  and 

^;«ontain8  ample  accomodations  for  a  great  number  of  visitors. 
It  had  been  very  full  during  the  summer  months,  but  a  great 

.many  persons  had  left  during  the  preceding  .week,  which  I  con- 
sidered n  very  fortunate  circumstance  for  those  who,  like  myself,    ~ 
came  to  see  instead  of  to  be  seen. 

•"    The  charges  for  a  Canadian  hotel  are  high ;  but  of  course  you 
are  expected  to  pay  something  extra  at  a  place  of  such  general 


270 


UFiB  IN  THE  CLEARINGS. 


resort,  and  Tor  the  grand  view  of  the  Falls,  which  oanbe  enjoyed 
at  any  moment  by  steppiug  into  the  handsome  balcony  into 
which  the  saloon  opens,  and  which  runs  the  whole  length  of  the 
side  and  front  of  the  hoase.  The  formt  commands  a  fall  view 
of  the  American,  the  latter  of  the  Horse-shoe  Fall ;  and  the  high 
French  windows  of  this  elegantly  furnished  apartment  give  yon 
the  opportunity  of  eigoying  both. 

Ton  pay  four  dollars  a-day  for  your  board  and  bed ;  this  does: 
not  include  wine,  and  every  little  extra  is  an  additional  charge^ 
Ohildren  and  servants  are  rated  at  half-price,  and  a  baby  is 
charged  a  dollar  a-day.    This  item  in  the  family  programme  is 
something  new  in  the  bill  of  charges  at  an  hotel  in  this  country ; ' 

f  for  these  smaU  gentry,  though  they  give  a  great  deal  of  trouble 
to  their  lawful  owners,  are  always  entertained  gratis  at  inns  and  - 
on  board  steamboats. 

The  room  in  which  dinner  was  served  could  have  accomodated 
with  ease  treble  the  number  of  guests.    A  large  party,  chiefly 

;  Americans,  sat  down  to  table.    The  dishes  are  not  served  on 

;  the  table;  a  bill  of  fare  is  laid  by  every  plate,  and  you  call  fw  , 
what  you  please. 

,  This  arrangement,  which  saves  a  deal  of  trouble,  seemed  very 
distasteful  to  a  gentleman  near  us,  to  whom  the  sight  of  good 
cheer  must  have  been  almost  as  pleasant  as  eating  it,  for  he  mut* 
tered  half-aloud — "th'it  he  hated  these  new-fangled  ways; 
tliat  he  liked  to  see  what  he  was  going  to  eat ;  that  he  did  not 
choose  to  be  put  off  with  kickshaws ;  that  he  did  not  understand 
the  French  names  for  dishes.  He  was  not  French,  and  he 
thought  that  they  might  be  written  in  plain  English." 

I  was  very  much  of  the  same  opinion,  and  found  myself  neai'ly 
in  the  same  predicament  with  the  grumbler  at  my  left  hand ;  but 
I  did  not  betray  my  ignorance  by  venturing  a  remark.    This 

,  brought  forcibly  to  my  mind  a  story  *hat  had  recently  been  told 
me  by  a  dear  primitive  old  lady,  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  first 

.;  Dutch  settlers  in  the  Upper  Province,  over  which  I  had  laughed 
very  heartily  at  the  time ;  and  now  it  served  as  an  illustration 
of  my  own  case. 
"You  know,  my  dear,"  said  old  Mrs.  0——,  "that  I  went 


LIFE    IN    TUB    CLEARINGS. 


211 


lately  to  Kew  York  to  visit  a  nephew  of  mine,  whom  I  had  not 
seen  from  a  bey.  Well,  he  has  grown  a  very  great  man  since 
those  daySi  and  is  now  one  of  the  wealthiost  merchants  in  the 
city.  I  never  had  been  inside  snch  a  grandly  furnished  house 
before.  We  know  nothing  of  the  great  world  in  Canada,  or  how 
the  rich  people  live  in  such  a  place  as  !N'ew  York.  Ours  are  all 
bread  and  bntter  doings  when  compared  with  their  grand  fixings. 
I  saw  and  heard  a  great  many  things,  such  as  I  never  dreamed 
of  before,  and  which  for  the  life  of  ma  I  could  not  understand ; 
but  I  never  let  on. 

A  "  One  morning,  at  luncheon,  my  nephew  says  to  me, '  Aunty 
0— 


- ,  you  have  never  tasted  our  Sew  York  cider ;  I  will  order 
up  some  on  purpose  to  see  how  you  like  it.' 

'^The  servant  brought  up  several  long-necked  bottles  on  a 
real  silver  tray,  and  placed  them  on  the  table.  'GbodfLord!' 
thinks  I,  '  these  are  queer  looking  cider  bottles.  PVaps  it's 
champagne,  and  he  wants  to  get  ~<p  a  laugh  against  me  before 
all  these  strange  j.  r>ople.'  I  had  r^v  rer  seen  or  tasted  champagne 
in  all  my  life,  though  there's  lots  of  it  sold  in  Canada,  and  our 
head  folks  give  champagne  breakfasts,  and  dinners ;  but  I  had 
heard  how  it  acted,  and  how,  when  you  drew  the  corka  from 
the  bottles,  they  went  pop-^pop.  So  I  just  listened  a  bit,  and 
held  my  tongue ;  and  the  first  bounce  it  gave,  I  cried  out,  *Mr. 

E ,  you  may  call  that  cider  in-  New  York,  but  we  call  it 

champagne  in  Canada !' 

"*Do  you  get  champagne  in  Otnada,  Aunty?'  says  he, 
stopping  and  looking  me  straight  in  the  face. 

"  'Oh,  don't  we?'  says  I;  'and  it's  a  great  deal  better  than 
your  Ifew  York  cider.'' 

"  He  looked  mortified,  I  tell  you,  and  the  company  all  laughed ; 
and  I  drank  off  my  glass  of  champagne  as  bold  as  you  please,  as 
if  I  had  been  used  to  it  all  my  life.  When  you  are  away  from 
home,  and  find  yourself  ignorant  of  a  thing  or  two,  never  let 
others  into  the  secret.  Watch  and  wait,  and  you'll  fird  it  out 
by  and  by." 

Not  having  been  used  to  Frenoii  dishes  during  my  long 
8<4ourn  in  Canada,  I  was  glad  to  take  the  old  lady's  advice,  and 


its 


LIFE    IN   THE    CLEARINGS. 


of  my  oyes  and  ears  before  I  ordered   my  own 


make  nse 
snppUes. 

it  would  have  done  Mre.  Stowe's  heart  good  to  have  seen  the 
fine  corps  of  well-dressed  negro  waiters  who  served  the  tables, 
most  of  whom  were  ranaway  slaves  from  the  States.  The  per- 
fect ease  and  dexterity  with  which  they  supplied  the  guests 
without  makmg  a  single  mistake  out  of  such  a  variety  of 'dishes, 
was  w*?'!!  worthy  of  notice. 

It  gave  me  pleasure  *o  watoh  the  quickness  of  all  their 
motions,  the  politeness  with  which  they  received  so  many  com- 
plicated orders,  an'T  the  noiseless  celerity  with  which  they  were 
performed.  This  cost  thera  no  effort,  but  seemed  natural  to 
them.  Thsre  were  a  dozen  of  these  blacks  in  att^indance,  all  of 
them  youHg,  and  some,  in  spite  of  their  dark  colouring,  hand- 
some, Intelligent  looking  men. 

,  The  master  of  tj>e  hotel  was  eloquent  in  their  praise,  and  said 
that  they  far  surpassed  the  whites  in  the  neat  and  elegant  man- 
ner in  which  they  laid  out  a  table,  that  he  scareely  knew  what 
he  would  do  without  them. 

•  I  found  myself  guilty  of  violating  Lord  Ohesteriield's  rules  of 
politeness,  while  watching  a  group  of  eaters  who  sat  opposite  to 
me  at  table.  The  celerity  with  which  they  despatched  their  din- 
tier,  and  yet  contrived  to  taste  of  everything  contained  in  the 
bill  of  fare,  was  really  wonderful.  To  th?ia  H  was  a  serious 
matter  of  business ;  they  never  lifted  their  eyes  from  their  plates, 
or  spoke  a  word  beyond  ordering  fresh  supplies,  during  feeding 
time. 

One  long-ringleted  lady  in  particular  attracted  my  notice,  for 
she  did  more  justice  to  the  creature  comforts  than  all  the  rest. 
'  *rhe  last  cour- J,  including  the  dessert,  was  served  at  table,  and 
she  helped  herself  to  such  quantities  of  pudding,  pie,  preserves, 
custard,  ice,  and  ftuit,  that  such  a  medley  of  rich  things  I  never 
before  saw  heaped  upon  one  plate.  Some  of  these  articles  she 
never  tasted :  but  she  seemed  determined  to  secure  to  herseV  a 
portion  of  all  and  to  get  as  much  as  slie  could  for  her  money. 

I  wish  nature  had  not  given  me  such  a  quick  perception  of  the 
ridiculous — such  a  perverse  inclination  to  laugh  in  the  wrong 


I, 


UTK   IK  THB   0LBARINO8. 


273 


place;  for  though  one  cannot  help  deriving  from  it  a  willed 
enjoyment,  it  is  a  very  tronblesome  gift,  and  very  difficult  to 
couoeal.  So  I  tamed  my  face  resolately  from  contemplating  the 
doings  of  the  long-ringletted  lady,  and  entered  into  conversation 
with  an  old  gentleman  from  the  States-'^  genuine  Yankee, 
whom  I  found  a  very  agreeable  and  intelligent  companion,  will- 
ing to^  exchange,  with  manly,  independent  courtesy,  the  treasures 
of  his  own  mind  with  anotJier ;  and  I  listened  to  his  account  of 
American  schools  and  public  institutions  with  great  interest. 
His  party  consisted  of  a  young  and  very  delicate  looking  lady, 
and  a  smait,  active  little  boy  of  five  years  of  age.  These  I  con- 
cluded weie  his  daughter  and  grandson,  from  the  striking  like- 
ness that  existed  between  the  child  and  the  old  man.  The  lady, 
he  said,  was  in  bad  health — the  boy  was  hearty  and  wide- 
awake. 

After  dinner  the  company  separated;  some  to  visit  objects  of 
interest  in  the  neighborhood,  others  to  the  saloon  and  the  bal- 
cony.   I  preferred  a  seat  in  the  latter ;  and  ensconcing  myself  in 
the  depths  of  a  large   comfortable   rocking-ch2ir,  which  was 
placed  fronting  the  Falls,  I  gave  up  my  whole  heart  and  soul  to 
the  contemplation  of  their  glorious  beauty. 
-'    I  was  roused  from  a  state  almost  bordering  on  idolatry  by  a 
lady  remarking  to  another,  who  was  standing  beside  her,  "  that 
she  considered  the  Falls  a  great  humbug ;  that  there  was  more . 
fuss  made  about  them  than  they  deserved ;  that  she  was  satisfied 
with  having  seen  them  once ;  and  that  she  never  wished  to  seo 
them  again." 

I  was  not  the  lefist  surprised,  on  turning  my  head,  to  behold  in 
tne  speaker  the  long-ringleted  lady.  .. 

A  gentleman  to  whom  I  told  these  remarks,  laughed  heartily. 
"'"  That  reminds  me  of  a  miller's  wife  who  came  from  Black  Rock, 
near  Buffalo,  last  summer,  to  see  the  Falls.  After  standing  here, 
and  looking  at  them  for  some  minutes,  she  drawled  through  her 
nose—"  Well,  I  declare,  is  that  all?  And  have  I  come  eighteen 
miles  to  look  at  you?  I  might  ha'  spared  myself  the  expense 
and  trouble;  my  husband's  mill-dam  is  as  good  a  sight,— only 

it's  not  just  as  Mghy 

12* 


f.  :v 


fH 


LIVB  IN  THB  OLKARXNOS. 


Tbis  lady  would  certainly  have  eohoed  the  sablime  sentiment 
expressed  by  our  Mend  the  poet, — 

"  Oh,  whatr  s  glorious  place  lor  washing  sheep, 
Niagara  would  he  I" 

In  the  evening  my  husband  hired  a  cab,  and  we  drove  to  see 
the  Upper  Suspension  Bridge.  The  road  onr  driver  took  was 
very  narrow,  and  close  to  the  edge  of  the  fHghtfhl  precipice  that 
forms  at  this  place  the  bank  of  ^e  river,  which  runs  more  than 
t^"]»  h*«ndred  feet  below. 

The  cabman,  we  soon  discovered,  was  not  a  member  of  the 
f:<)mporanoe  society.  He  was  very  mnoh  intoxicated ;  auJ,  like 
fJeuu  the  son  of  Kimshi,  he  drove  furiously.  I  felt  very  timid 
,v-'d-  nervous.  Sioknes^  makes  us  sad  cowards,  and  what  the 
mind  enjoys  in  health,  becomes  an  object  of  fear  when  it  is  on*'^ 
f^eb»   *  and  unstrung  by  bodily  weakness. 

My  dear  husband  guessed  my  feelings,  and  placed  himself  in 
such  a  manner  as  to  hide  from  my  sight  the  danger  to  which  we 
were  exposed  by  our  careless  driver.  In  spite  of  the  many  pic- 
turesque beauties  in  our  road,  I  felt  greatly  relieved  when  we 
drove  up  to  the  bridge,  and  our  short  journey  was  accomplish- 
ed. 

The  Suspension  Bridge  on  which  we  now  stood — surveying 
from  its  dizzy  height,  two  hundred  and  thirty  feet  above  the 
water,  the  stream  below — seems  to  demand  from  us  a  greater 
amount  of  interest  than  the  one  at  Qneenstone,  from  the  fact  of 
its  having  been  the  first  experiment  of  the  kind  ever  made  in 
this  country, — ^a  grand  and  successful  effort  of  mechanical  genius 
over  obstacles  that  appeared  insurmountable.  Y 

The  river  is  two  hundred  feet  wider  here  than  at  Qneenstone, 
and  the  bridge  is  of  mnch  larger  dimensions.  The  height  of  the . 
stone  tower  that  supports  it  on  the  American  side,  is  sixty-eight  I 
feet,  and  of  the  wooden  tower,  on  the  Canadian  shore,  fifty  feet. 
The  number  of  cables  for  the  bridge  is  sixteen ;  of  strands  in 
each  cable,  six  hundi-ed ;  of  strands  in  the  ferry-cable,  thirty- 
seven,  the  d'ameter  of  which  is  seven-eighths  of  an  inch.  The 
ultimate  tension  is  six  thousand  fivo  hundred  tons,  and  the  capa- 


i 


^•■■\ 


; 


Lm  t«  9HB  OLSABTlfOS. 


275 


'  il  ■( 


ymi 


city  of  the  bridge,  five  hundred.    A  passage  aorost  in  thrittiDgly 
exciting. 

The  depth  of  the  river  below  the  bridge  is  two  hondred  and 
fifty  feet,  and  the  watw  partakes  more^  largely  of  that  singular 
deep  green  at  this  spot  than  I  had  remarked  elsewhere.  The 
American  stage  crossed  the  biidge  as  we  were  leaving  it,  and  the 
horses  seemed  to  ''eel  the  same  mysterions  dread  which  I  have 
before  described.  A  great  nnmber  of  strong  wooden  posts  that 
sapport  the  towers  take  greatly  firom  the  elegance  of  this  bridge ; 
but  I  am  told  that  these  will  shortly  be  removed,  and  their  place 
supplied  by  a  stone  tower  and  buttresses.  We  i-etumed  by  an- 
other and  less  dangerous  route  to  the  Clifton  House,  just  in  time 
to  witness  a  glorious  autumnal  sunset. 

The  west  was  a  flood  of  molten  gold,  fretted  with  crimson 
clouds ;  the  great  Horse-shoe  Fall  caught  every  tint  of  the  glow- 
ing heavens,  and  looked  like  a  vast  sheet  of  flame,  the  mist  rising 
from  it  like  a  wreath  of  red  and  violet-colored  smoke.  This 
gorgeous  sight,  contrasted  by  the  dark  pine  woods  and  frowning 
cliffs  which  were  thrown  into  deep  Bhade,  presented  a  spectacle 
of  such  surpassing  beauty  and  grandeur,  that  it  could  only  be  ap- 
preciated by  those  who  witnessed  it.  Any  attempt  to  describe 
it  must  prove  a  failure.  I  stood  chained  to  the  spot,  mate  with 
admiration,  till  the  sun  set  behind  tb«  trees,  and  the  last  rays  of 
light  faded  from  the  horizon ;  and  still  the  thought  uppermost 
in  my  mind  was :  who  could  feel  disappointed  at  a  scene  like 
this?    Oan  the  wide  world  supply  such  another? 

The  removal  of  all  the  ugly  mills  along  its  shores  would  im- 
prove it,  perhaps,  and  add  the  one  charm  it  wants,  by  being 
hemmed  in  by  tasteless  buildings — the  sublimity  of  solitude. 

Oh,  for  one  hour  alone  with  Nature,  and  Ler  great  master- 
piece, iN'iagara  1  What  solemn  converse  would  the  soul  hold  with 
its  Creator  at  such  a  shrine — and  the  busy  hum  of  practical  life 
would  not  mar,  with  its  jarring  discord,  this  grand  "thunder  of 
the  waters  1"  Realities  are  unmanageable  things,  in  some  hands, 
and  the  Americans  are  gravely  contemplating  making  their  sub- 
blime  ^aM  into  a  motive  power  for  tnming  machinery. 

Ye  gods  I  what  next  will  the  love  of  gain  suggest  to  these 


^^MJl^ 


uwM  nr  vBi  ouiABnrcHi. 


gold-worahii^ten  ff  Tha  whole  eartii  aboiild  enter  into  a  protest 
against  such  an  act  of  saorilege-HBne)i  a  ahameleRi  deseoraiiiNDi  of 
one  of  the  noblest  works  of  God. 

Niagara  belongs  to  no  partionlar  nation  or  people.  It  is  an 
inheritance  bequeathed  by  the  great  Author  to  all  mankind — an 
altar  nused  by  his  own  ahnigtity  handr— at  which  aU  true  wor- 
shippers must  bow  the  knee  in  sdemn  adoration.  I  trust  that 
these  free,  |^  waters  will  assert  tbdr  own  rights,  and  dash 
into  niist  luxd  sjnay  any  attempt  made  to  infringe  th^  glorious 
liberty.       v 

But  the  bell  is  ringing  for  tea,  and  I  must  smother  my  indig- 
nation with  the  reflectioo,  that  '^si^ientfor  the  day  is  the  evil 
thereof"  ^ 


A  FEEAK  OF  FANCY. 

"I  had  a  dream  of  ocean, 

la  stern  and  stormy  prido ; 
With  terrible  commotion, 

Dark,  thundering,  came  the  tide. ' 
High  on  the  groaning  shore 

Upsprang  the  wreathed  spray ; 
Tremendous  was  the  roar 

Of  the  angry  echoing  bay. 

"  Old  Neptune's  snowy  coursers 

Unbridled  trode  the  main. 
And  o'er  the  foaming  waters 

Fiunged  on  in  mad  disdain  : 
The  furious  surges  boiling, 

Boll  mountains  in  their  path ; 
Beneath  their  white  hoofs  coiling. 

They  spurn  them  in  their  wrath. 

"  The  moon  at  full  was  streaming 
Through  rack  and  thundnr-cloud, 
lake  the  last  pale  taper  gle&.ming 
On  eoffln,  pall,  aitd  shroud. 


i 


' 


^M- 


\\ 


Lini  nr  tbb  ^liafivos. 

Tha  wind*  wero  floroeljr  WTeaking 
Their  vengouioe  on  the  wave, 

A  hoarse  dirge  wildly  shrieking 
O'       ^Mih  unooffin'd  grare. 

"  I  started  from  my  pillow — 

The  moon  was  riding  high, 
The  wind  scarce  hear'd  a  billcw 

Beneath  that  doudless  sky. 
I  look'd  from  earth  to  heaven, 

And  Uess'd  the  tranquil  beam ; 
My  trembling  heart  had  striven 

Wii^  the  t«npeat  of  »  dream." 


M 


IW> 


876 


un  nr  nii  ouAitiiros. 


CHAPTER  XVni. 


«« Adoiwn  Wagarali  glMrt  flMi^ 
The  foMBiag  broakert  crowding  lettpi 

With  wild  tnmultuoui  roar ; 
Tb»  mighty  din  Moenda  on  high, 
In  deafening  thonder  to  th«  skyi 

And  ibalcet  the  rooky  shore." 


8.11. 


Ths  lady  with  the  ringlets  was  absent  with  her  party  from 
the  tea-table;  I  was  not  sorry  to  learn  that  she  was  gone.  I 
had  conceived  a  prejndiviv  {.gainst  her  from  the  remark  I  heard 
her  make  about  the  }*'^k.  Her  gustativeness  predominated  so 
largely  over  her  idrf;.  ^r,  'bit  she  reminded  me  of  a  young  lady 
who,  after  deboribing  to  me  a  supper  of  which  by  her  own 
account  she  had  largely  partaken,  said,  with  a  candour  almost 
shocking  in  its  simplicity — 

"  To  tell  you  the  plain  truth,  my  dear  Mrs.  M— — ,  my  art 
(she  was  English,  and  cockney,  and  dreadfally  mangled  the  letter 
h  whenever  it  stumbled  into  a  speech)  is  in  my  ttomaeh." 

The  cup  of  excellent  tea  was  most  refreshing  after  the  fatigues 
of  the  day ;  and,  while  enjoying  it,  I  get  into  an  agreeable  chat 
with  several  pleasant  people,  but  we  were  all  strangers  even  in 
name  to  each  other. 

The  night  was  misty  and  intensely  dark,  without  moon  or 
stars.  How  I  longed  for  one  glimpse  of  the  former,  to  shed  if 
only  a. wandering  gleam  upon  the  Falls  I  The  awful  music  of 
their  continuous  roar  filled  the  heavens,  and  jarred  the  windows 
of  the  building  with  the  tremulous  motion  we  feel  on  board  a 


.l\-  -.. 


UWM  nr  THI   OLKAIUNOS. 


m 


I 


Bteamboat  And  then  I  amused  myaolf  with  piotnring  during 
one  of  our  desolating  thnnder-storms,  lea  'ng  into  existence 
•>nt  of  (he  dense  darkness,  when  reyenloti  by  the  broad  red 
flashes  of  lightning ;  and  I  wished  that  my  lltnit'd  means  would 
allow  me  to  remain  long  enough  in  their  vicin  /,  to  see  them 
nnder  every  change  of  season  and  weathei  But  it  was  not  to 
be ;  and  after  peering  long  an  anxic  ^y  into  the  dark  night,  I 
retreated  to  an  nnooonpied  sofa  It    ^  <  >f  the  saloon, 

to  watch  and  listen  to  all  that  watt  p'  m  ad  me. 

Two  yonug  American  lAdies,  no  ^      *aoated  olasit, 

wore  engaged  in  a  lively  oonversatioi  '6  aushing  Englisli 

officers,  who,  for  their  own  amnsement  practising  upon 

their  credulity,  and  flattering  their  nationux  prejudices  with  the 
most  depreciating  remarks  on  England  and  thu  English  people. 

"  I  am  English,"  cried  number  one ;  "  but  I  am  no  great  ad- 
mirer of  her  people  and  institutions.  The  Americans  beat  them 
hollow." 

"  All  the  world  think  so  but  themselves,"  said  the  younger 
lady ;  "  they  are  such  a  vain,  arrogant  set!" 

*^  Decidedly  so.  The  men  are  bad  enough,  but  the  women, — 
I  dare  say  yon  have  heard  them  called  handsome." 

"Ah,  yes,"  in  a  lively  tone;  "but  I  never  believed  it.  I  never 
in  my  life  saw  a  pretty  English  woman  among  all  that  I  have 
seen  in  New  York.  To  my  thinking,  they  are  a  sad  set  of 
frights.  Stiff,  formal,  and  repulsive,  they  dress  in  shocking  bad 
taste,  and  consider  themselves  and  their  uncouth  fashions  as  tho 
standards  of  perfection." 

"My  dear  madam,  you  are  right.  They  are  odious  creatures. 
The  beauty  for  which  they  were  once  renowned  has  vanished 
with  the  last  generation.  Our  modern  English  girls  are  decided 
barbarians.  It  is  impossible  to  meet  with  a  pretty  English 
woman  now-a-days.  I  have  made  a  vow  to  cut  them  altogether; 
and  if  ever  I  commit  such  a  foolish  thing  as  matrimony,  to  take 
to  myself  an  American  wife." 

"Are  you  in  earnest?"  with  a  very  fascinating' smile,  and 
flashing  upon  him  her  fine  dark  eyes. 
"  Quite  80.    But,  sott,  yon  must  not  take  me  for  a  rich 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


■^'^,V^. 


% 


/] 


/ 


'<a 


/A 


7 


1.0 


■JO    ■^~ 


I.I 


u.  114 

US 


2.5 


140 


2.0 


1.8 


1.25  1  1.4 

i'-^ 

^ 

6"     — 

► 

Hiotographic 

Sdences 

Corporation 


33  WEST  MAIN  STREET 

WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14SS0 

(716)  873-4503 


^ 


X 


■^ww 


^^:^j^gmmf^ 


liilfl^  C^eto  iQ  eearoh  pf , »  wlfa.  I  up.  jf^i  imfortvuttii  ao«pe- 
graoe,  liate  rim  pot  |J|  mj  pu^sii^^aiid  oin  hq^  worth  »  York 
i»biIIvQg.to  ||jpigle  OB  >  tpmVsi^je.  I  vu  obliged  to  1)orrow 
n^oney  of  i^J^,^^^^^  feUow-rto  pay  my 

^aab^rvomaa'i  i>W  )thi» jo^^  JGa^  in  love  with  me. 

I  aasnre  yon,  op  my  l^oiUHu,,  i(  wow4  , 

^*PonH  be  aifTOMd,**  retiU3i«4^'th«!,  darlcfeye^  girl,  eyidentfy 

mndi  pleased  with  h(wr  odd  oompaoion.  *'ij^  yon  very  ypimg?'* 

**I  wasneyei^piM^  l|^  i9oth«r  told  mQ  j^  I  h(M  oi^t  my 
wisdoid-te«i!b  w;£^  Jt  was  )fom.  I  was  i*  ide.  awab^,  to^  like 
yoor  dever  pec^e^  «i^  ^y(^J^^^  my  ey<»s  ppea  eves  since." 

*^  You  have  seeft  a  great  deal  (^  thd^ 

*< Yaa» top  iftii^h pl  it;  bwtHia  a  tolaip^  world  to  live  in 
after  alL*V 

*^  Wfre  yoa  9Ter  in  tlie  ITBited  Stateat" 

"  Onty  crossed  &om  the  other  44a  la  few  days  agp.  ,  I^d  yon 
not  notice  the  arrival  <^  ICr.  ?--->-  among  the  lisib  of  distin- 
goishiBd  fpr^gi^ers  that  honoured  yomr  great  oity  with  their  pre- 
sence t" 

*^  ^d  what  struck  yon  mpet  when  you  got  there^Y" 

"  Oh,  the  beauty  and  el^^ganoe  of  tho  women,  of  bourse." 

•V  You  flatter  US."  ^^  -.-^^--^ 

"Fac^  up(m  honouTi '  with  a  quia^oal  app^ctation  of  ma  hand 
to  his  heart. 

«  W»t  did  yon  admire  in  tiiiem  t*V 

**;Thdr  straight  up  and  down  figqres.  Theyjbaveno  vulgar 
reduncbmcied — ^no  red  cheeks  and  pug  noses;  and  then  their 
voices  are  so  sweet  and  harmonious,  their  pronunoiatatpu  so  cor- 
rect, so  every  way  superior  to  the  boisterous,  heariy  franlmess 
of  our  British  j^ls  I" 

"English  womoi  have  very  bad  noses,  I  have  remarked  that ; 
aad  they  are  eo  horribly  fat,  aiid  tiiey  laugh  so  lond,  and  talk  in 
such  a  liigh  key  I  My  1  I  often  wond<^  whe^e  tl^ky  learned 
their  manners." 

"OhI  ?tiB  all  natural  tp  theni— it  comes  to  them  wnhout 
teaching." 

>^  I  haye  been  told  that  London  is  a  shocking  place." 


^■- 


^xihB^iir  tm  tnMkmtws. 


Wk 


^  IXiiralil ;  fuuV  the  oHinatelv^iiraiieliig.  It  rftlns  there  every 
day,  and  fogs  are  jo  prevalent  tibu^  daring  tiie  winter  immthi, 
th6y  bom  candlieiB  all  day  to  see  to  eit.  Am  to  the  son,  he  never 
cotneii  wii  bat  ofice  or  tvi6e  daring  the  sainm«r,  jnst  to  let  ns 
knaw  liiat  he  has  not  been  atraok  out  of  ereatikm.  Andtiie 
s^t&Qta^  my  deiryban^ladyf  are  so  ffltHQT,  thit  the  women  have 
to  wear  pattens  in  th«dr  carriages.'* 

♦*  Ton  don't  say  ?»♦ 

^^*^^Ttst  1l»  keep^lshieir  |>ettlod8t96ilteif  tfa«mnd,  whieh  is  to  deep 
tliat  it  penetratea  throngh  the  bottom  of  the  ofutiaget.** 

"^I  tiet%r  wifijb  tt>!^^d,  Idedare.*^ 

"Ton  wai  be  betti^  appreefate^^^  yoce  free  and  glfflrions 
ooniitry.  SUtsHkf  IhHVte  there,  and  yon  nudce  staves  of  ns  poor 
raeri." 

**  Now,  do  stop  thert,  and  have  done  with  yonr  blarney.** 
.  ^imiimey  I  I'm  not  Mli; '  Ihigtfi^iimtoal^ys speak  the  trnth 
when  taHdng  to  the  ladies." 

Her^^e  paused,  ^texmt  of  brieath,  and  his  obmpanion  In  mis- 
chief commenced  witii  the  othet  lady. 

"  Who  is  that  tall,  stoat,  handsome  man,  with  tiie  fi^  lady  on 
his  arm,  who  has  Jost  entered  the  room  t'V 

*^  That's  an  American  from  the  soath;  he's  iirorth  his  weight 
in  gold,  and  that  fleehy  woman'a  his  wife.  My  I  is  he  not  hand- 
some I  and  he's  so  dever^-one  of  onr  greatest  senators." 

"If  size  makes  a  man  great,  and  he  has  the  distingaished 
honoar  Of  being  one  of  jrow  senators,  he  mnst  be  a  great,  a  very 
great  man." 

*^  He's  a  splMidid  oritor ;  yoti  ahonld  hear  him  speat  .^' 

"'  He  has  kept  his  mouth  slrat  all  day ;  and,  when  Im  does  open 
it,  it  is  only  to  speak  in  Fr^eh  to  -his  wife.  My  cariosity  is  ex- 
cited ;  it  would  be  ^te  a  treat  to  hear  him  talk  on  any  sabjeot." 

^  ihieU  he  speaks,  if  s  always  to  the  purpose.  But  there's  no 
one  here  who  is  able  to  appreciate  talents  like  his." 

"He's  an  American  aristocrat." 

"  We  have  no  aristocrats  with  us.  He's  a  great  slaveowner, 
and  immensely  rich." 

^^Yezy  substantial  daims  to  distinction,  I  must  oonflMB.    Ton 


219 


Un  IN.TBB  OI<BA]UII0e. 


ace  wiser  in  these  matterp  tj^^an,  we  are.    What  do  y&t  tbiok  of 
Ganadal*^  . 

"I  don't  know;  it's  very  well,  for  ♦  yonng^  place^  I  only 
o^me  here  with  sister  laat  n|ght;  we  are  on  onr  way  to  Qnebeo." 

♦'To  visit  friends  tn  ,,,i 

"We  have  no  fiiende . in  panada.  We  want  to  see  Lord 
Elgin."  '-^■'^■it':-m-i:r :: ..-      ,.;■.:/'■ '*,;f., -'.v. r.»-"j#'4>,. 

"LordiSginr  > 

♦♦Tee.  We  have  mm  •  greaifc  many  enrions  thiag8^>  but  we 
never  saw  an  EngU^  lord."  -~r  < 

"  And  yon  are  going  to  Qnebeo  £or  no  other  piupose  than  to 
look  at  Lord  Elgin?  'Sis  Iprdship  aboidd  feel  hiniself  highly 
flattered.    What  sort  of  an  animal  do  yon  snppose  Mm  to  be  ?" 

♦♦  A  man,  <^  gKirse ;  hot  I  assure  yon  that  the  Boston  ladies 
thought  a  great  deal  of  hlin.  Sister  and  I  have  plenty  of  time 
and  money  at  our  di9p<^,  and  we  wanted  to  see  if  their  opinion 
was  cprreet." 

"  We^,  I  hope  you  may  be  gratified,  «nd  iigiree  with  thft  Bos- 
ton ladies  that  he  is  a  very  clever  mAn." 

"Is he  handsome!" 

"  He  has  an  EngHflb  nose." 

"Oh,rfioddngI" 

"  A  decided  Angjo-Saxon  face."       ; ,.  , 

"  I'm  sure  I  shan't  admire  him^"  ^  -    ^ 

"  But  rU  not  anticipate.    A  man  may  be  a  fine^looking  f ' 
in  spite  of  his  nose.    Bnt  wM  do  you  think  of  the  Falls  9" 

"Well,  I  have  not  quite  made  up  my  mind  about  them^X 
should  like  to  ride  down  to  the  e^  of  the  river,  to  look  at^  them 
from  below," 

"I  will  order  a^earriage  tormorroi^w  morniBg,  and  drive  jp^ 
down."  - 

"  Thank  you;  I  can  do  that  for  myself,  if  X  have  a  mind  to. 
I  should  Uke  to  ride  down  <m  hi^raeback."        .   /v         ,  >'... 

"The  path  is  too  steep;  no  one  ventures  down  that  terrible 
road  on  horseback." 

"  But  I'm  a  capital  rider." 


Lim^nf  TBI  OltKAlUKeS. 


T^^^: 


I 

n 

i 

0. 

le 


"  They  ftro  very  safe,  sure-footed  aithnals.  All  tiie  ladies  ride 
down  io  the  Falls  on  eowa." 

"  Aee  they  fools  t".;     u. 

^  Wise  W4»nen.  Did  jaot  yoa  see  that  fine  drove  of  oows  pass 
thehoteL-atsnnaetr  ■■  ■.  •^s  ■f:>:::'•^'i,^^■,^ 

^''l^id*  I  thoqght  they  were  driven  into  the  yard  to  be 
milked."  . 

*fWhy,yes^.h«i  those  cows  are  making  Mr. ^'sfortime. 

They  serve  a  double  purpose,  providing  detiooions  batter  and 
creaiBHibr  his  oii8toniei%  an^  aoting  as  horses  for  the  ladies.  I 
w^  pick  out  th|»  most  dooile  «mong  them  for  your  «cearsion  to> 
morrow  morning^  and  see  it  bridled  and  saddled  myself." 
tlM»  was  too  mnch  for  the  gravity  of  any  one.  My  soMn-hiw 
ran  out  of  the  room^  and  I  laughed  alond.  The  poor  girls  b^^n 
to  find  outiiiat  they  were  «oldf  and  retreid^d  into  the  balcony. 
An  hour  afterwards,  as  I  was  pacing  throu^^  the  long  i^ery 
that  led  to  our  sleeping  apartment,  one  of  the  many  doors  on 
either  side  softly  opened,  and  the  youngest  of  these  bright-eyed 
damsels  stole  out  \  S^/ 

"  I  want  to  ask  you  a  quesUon,"  she  said,  laying  her  very 
white  hand  confidingly  m  my  arm ;  "were  those  Englishmen 
quizzing  my  lEdster  and  met"  * 

"I^eed  you  ask  that  questicmt"  said  I,  not  a  little  amused  at 
her  rimplicity. 

"I  never  suspected  it  till  I  B&fr  your  son  laughhig  to  himself, 
and  l^en  I  gnessed  something  was  wrong.  It  was  a  great  shame 
of  liiose  rude  fellows  to  amuse  themselves  at  our  expense;  but 
your  son  is  quite  a  different  person — so  hu^dsome  and  gentle- 
maidy.    We  admice  him  so  much.    Is  he  married?" 

"His  wife  is  my  daughter." 

I  can*t  tell  why  my  answer  struck  the  fair  inquirer  dumb ; 
she  drew  back  suddenly  into  her  chamber,  and  closed  the  door 
without  bidding  me  good  night,  and  that  was  the  last  time  I 
saw  or  heard  of  her  and  her  companion. 

"A  summer  spent  at  the  Olifton  House  would  elicit  more 
extraordinary  traltf  4^,  character  than  |^d.<M( 


d84 


Uri  m  TBI  OLSARIVOB. 


the  ohit-ohat  of  a  dozen  novels,**  thought  I,  aa  I  paced  on  to 
Ko.  SO,  the  last  room  on  the  long  tier. 

^  I  was  up  hy  dayhreak  the  next  morning  to  see  the  Edla  by 
snnrise,  and  was  amply  rejptAd  for  leaying  my  wum  b«d,  and 
en^oanteiing  the  bright  braoiog  mwniBg  air,  by  two  hoars'  en< 
joyment  of  solemn  converse  alone  with  God  voA  Hiagaisa*  The 
son  had  not  yet  lifted  his  mi^estle  head  abo^  the  jnne  feiest,  or 
chased  with  his  beams  the  dark  shadows  d  night  that  rested 
withhi  the  cnnred  iddes  ^  the  great  Horenshoe.  The  waters 
looked  bl^ck  as  they  rolled  in  vast  smooth  masses  downward, 
till,  meeting  the  projecting  tockBy  Hbey  were  tossed  lugh  into-  the 
air  in  clonds  of  dazzling  foaai — so  pitfe,  so  sti^nlessly  white, 
when  contrasted  wi^  tiie  darkness,  ^at  they  looked  as  if 
belonging  to  Heaven  rather  than  to  earth.  Anon^  that  dancing 
feathery  tnmnlt  of  foam  catches  a  rosy  gleam  from  the  ccmiiog 
day.  A  long  stream  of  sunlight  toncfaea  the  centre  of  the 
mighty  arch,  and  transf<mn8  the  black  waters  into  a  mass  of 
smoOtii  transparent  emerald  greea,  and  the  epray  flashes  with 
myriads  of  mbies  and  diamonds;  whik  the  American  Fall  still 
rolls  and  thunders  on  in  cold  pure  whiteness.  Goat  Island  and  its 
crests  of  daik  pines  shrouding  it  in  a  robe  of  gloom.  The  voice 
of  the  waters  rising  amidst  the  silence  that  ragnsat  that  lovely 
calm  hour,  sounds  sonorous  and  grand.  Be  still,  O  my  soul ! 
eurth  is  pouring  to  her  Creator  her  morning  anthem  of  solemn 
prusel 

]S(urth  I  how  beautiful  thou  art  t  When  will  men  be  worthy 
of  the  paradise  in  which  they  are  placed?  Did  our  first  father, 
amidst  the  fi'esh  young  beauty  of  his  Eden,  ever  gaze  npon  a 
spectacle  more  wmrthy  of  his  admlrati<m  than  this  t  We  will 
except  those  moments  when  he  held  converse  with  God  amid 
the  cool  shades  of  that  delicious  garden. 

"That's  a  sublime  sight  I"  said  a  voice  near  me. 

I  turned  and  fbund  the  old  Americ!»i  gentleman  at  my  side. 

"I  can  see  a  change  in  the  appearance  of  these  Falls,"  he  con- 
tinued, *^  since  I  visited  th«tn  some  forty  years  ago.  Time 
changes  everything;  I  &el  that  I  am  changed  since  then.  I 
was  young  and  active,  and  clambered  about  these  rug^ped  banks 


•  f 


za# nr  ma  vlbarhtqa. 


with  thvoireleM  bnrdBiood  ot «  bK^  wlio  pants  fbr  exoitement 
and  -adventure,  and  how  I  ei\}oyed  my  vIMt  to  this  place  I  A 
change  has  tihan  ^aoo— I  ean  soarody  daseribe  in  what  reepeot- 
but  it  looks  to  ma  Tory  different  to  what  it  £d  dien.** 

"Perhaps,"  I  snggested,  **  the  fUl  of  that  large  portion  of  tlio 
tahle^rodc  has  made  Ihe  alteradon  yon  describe.*' 

"  Ton  have  just  hit  it,"  he  sitfd ;  *^  I  fbi^got  the  droamstanos*^ 
The  Hof«e>shoe  is  not  so  perfect  at  it  was." 

"  OotM  these  Falls  erer  ha^  receded  ttota  Qaeenstown  t" 
said  L 

He  tamed  to  me  with  a  ^idok  tmfle— **  If  they  have  my  dear 
Madam,  the  wffAA  is  mndi  older  by  thonsaads  of  Ages  than  we 
0ve  it^  credit  for;  tmt"  oontinned  he,  gazing  at  the  mighty 
object  iii  dispnte,  *4t  is  possible  that  these  Falls  are  of  more 
recent  date  thui  the  creation  of  Itie  world.  An  earthqnske 
may  have  rent  ttie  deep  chasm  thkt  fbhns  thel>ed  of  that  riter, 
and  in  a  few  seconds  of  time  the  satfie  cause  might  break  down 
^at  mighty  barrier,  tad  drain  the  npper  lakes,  by  converting  a 
large  part  of  yonr  fine  province  into  taother  itdand  sea.  Bat 
this  is  all  theory.  Fancy,  yon  know,  is  free,  and  I  often  amase 
myself  by  spedidating  on  these  things." 

^* Toar  daughter,  I  hope,  isnot  ill,"  I  said;  **  I  did  not  see  her 
at  tea  last  night  with  her  little  son." 

Instead  of  his  moal  shrewd  smile,  the  old  man  laughed 
heartily.    "  So  yoa  take  that  young  lady  for  my  daughter !" 

**Is  she  not?  The  child,  however,  must  be  your  grandson, 
for  he  is  the  picture  of  you." 

"I  flatter  inyself  that  he  is.  That  young  lady  is  my  wife- 
thai  little  boy  my  son.  Iffli't  he  a  fine  clever  little  chap  9"  and 
his  keen  grey  eye  brightened  at  the  growing  promise  of  his  boy. 
"  I  have  another  younger  1*«m  him." 

"  Heavens  I"  thougbt  I,  **  wiiAt  a  mistime  I  have  made !  How 

M :  trill  laugh  at  me,  and  how  delighted  this  cAd  man  Seems 

with  my  conftision  I"  I  am  always  making  these  odd  blunders. 
Not  long  ago  I  mistook  a  very  old-looking  young  man  for  his 
&ther,  and  congratulated  him  on  his  daughter's  marriage ;  and 
asked  a  young  bride  who  was  retundng  her  callst  ai^  who 


M 


uMO 


tm  nr  tiii  eLiAiunieB. 


gTM^  resemCltd  a  manied  edmin  who  lired  in  th«  samatown, 
how  hot  hdbtfwut  And  now  I  had  tak«n  a  man*f  wife  for  his 
daughter— his  son  for  agrandson.  But  I  oomfortod  myself  with 
the  idea  that  the  tast  disparity  between  tiieir  ages  wae  some 
exoose,  and' so  sUiq)ed  past  ono  of  the  horns  of  that  dilemma. 

As  soon  as  we  had  taken  hrtekAuit,  we  set  oif  In  eompa^y 
^jrHh  the  Amerioan  and  his  HtCle  hoy  to  pay- a  Tiiit  to  Goat 
Island,  and  look  at  the  FaHs  ftom  the  American  iMe.  The 
child  faUy  reaHaed  hie  father's  deaDription.  He  was  a  diarming, 
firank,  graeefol  boy,  ftdl  of  life  and  inteUigenoe,  a&d  enjoyed  the 
excitement  of  crossing  the  river,  and  the  beaaties  it  rerealed  to 
ns^  with  ake«i  apprecli^on  of  the  scene,  whidi  would  have 
been  inoomprehendble  to  some  of  the  li^nderHseekers  we  had 
met  th«  day  b^ore«  All  natnre  coDtiibnted  to  heighten  oor 
ex^oyment.  The  heavens  were  so  blue  and  doncQess,  the  air  so 
clear  md  transparent,  the  ohaog^ng  tints  on  the  anttimnal 
foliage  so  rich,  the  siin  so  bright  and  warm,  tiiat  we  seemed  snr- 
ronnded  by  an  endianted  atmosphere,  and  the  v^  oonsoions- 
nesB  of  existence  was  delightftil ;  but  with  those  descending 
floods  of  light  towering  above  ns,  and  filling  the  eohoiog  shores 
with  their  snblime  ihelo^j  we  were  doubly  blessed  t 

When  onr  little  boat  touched  the  Am^can  shore,  the  question 
arose  as  to  which  method  woidd  be  the  best  to  adopt  in  ascend- 
ing the  giddy  heigiit«  A  oov^!<ed  way  leads  to  the  top  of  the 
bank,  which  is  more  than  two  hundred  feet  in  perpendicular 
height.  Up  this  steep^our  ingenious  neighlKnmt  have  construct- 
ed on  an  inclined  plane  of  boards  a  railway,  on  which  two  cars 
ran  in  such  a  mannw  that  the  weight  of  the  descending  car 
draws  up  the  other  to  the  top  of  the  bank.  Both  are  secured  by 
a  strong  cable.  By  the  side  of  this  railway,  and  under  the  same 
roo^  two  hundred  steps  lead  to  the  road  alK)ve.  I  was  too  weak 
to  attempt  t^e  formidadable  flight  of  steps;  and  though  I  felt 
ratiaer  cowardly  while  looking  at  the  giddy  ascent  Of  the  oajn^ 
tliwe  was  no  altwnative  between  choosing  one  or  the  other,  or 
remaining  behind.  The  American  and  his  little  boy  were  ahready 
in  the  car,  and  I  took  my  seat  behind  them.  When  we  were 
half-way,  the  qnestaon  rose  in  my  miad-^**What  if  the  cable 


Lira  m  toM  ouariros. 


281 


•honld  give  way,  whtM  sltoold  we  land  2"  *'  Yuu -11  know  that 
wbea  the  tail  breaks,"  as  the  Highlander  said  when  holdfaig  on 
to  th^  wild  boar;  and  I  shot  my  eyes,  determined  not  to  disturb 
my  mind  or  waken  my  fears  by  another  i^oe  below. 

**Why  do  you  shut  your  eyes?"  said  thr  American.  ^I 
thonght  the  English  were  all  brave." 

^  I  never  was  a;  coward  till  after  I  came  to  North  America," 
f^  I,  laughing ;  and  I  felt  that  I  ought  to  be  as  brave  as  a  lion, 
and  not  to  iqjnre  the  reputation  of  my  glorionli  oooittry  by  such 
childish  fears. 

When  the  oars  stopped,  we  parted  company  with  the  Ameri> 
can  and  his  br^ve  little  son.  He  had  friends  to  visit  in  Man- 
chester, and  I  saw  them  no  more. 

Oar  path  lay  through  a  pretty  shady  grove  to  the  village. 
Groups  of  Indian  women  and  ehildren  were  repoidng  beneath  the 
shade  of  the  trees,  working  at  their  {uretty  wares,  which  they 
offered  fot  sale  as  we  passed  by.  Following  the  winding  of  the 
road,  we  crossed  a  rural  bridge,  from  which  we  enjoyed  a  fine 
view  of  the  glorious  Bapids,  and  entered  Goat  Island. 

This  beautiful  spot  is  still  in  forest,  but  the  underbrush  has 
been  cleared  away,  and  a  path  cut  enthwly  round  it.  The 
trunks  of  these  trees  are  entirely  covered  with  the  names  and 
initials  of  persons  who  at  different  times  have  visited  the  spot, 
and  thc^  present  the  most  curious  ^poaranee. 

Afber  a  few  minutes'  walk  through  the  wood,  we  reached  the 
bank  of  the  river,  which  here  is  not  very  high,  and  is  covared 
with  evergreen  shrubs  and  "UrM  flowers;  and  here  the  ,v\de 
world  of  tumbling  wate^  are  flashing  and  foaming  in  the  i,an> 
light— leaping  and  racing  round  the  rocky,  pine-covered  islands, 
that  vainly  oppose  their  frantic  course.  Oh,  how  I  longed  to 
stem  their  ncstemmed  tid^ ;  to  land  upon  those  magic  islands 
which  the  foot  of  man  or  beast  never  trode,  whose  beauty  and 
verdure  are  guarded  by  the  stem  hand  of  death  I  The  Falls  are 
more  wonderful,  but  not  more  beautiful,  than<this  sublime  con- 
fusion and  din  of  waters — 

•      *-  "Of  glad  rejoicing  Waters, 

Of  living  leaping  waters." 


m 


uu  uf  ^zm  OULUUIIO0. 


Ih«ir  etoroal  yoioe  and  moUon  might  truly  be  torued  th«  **Jo7 

On  th«  Auerioaii  aid*,  the  view  of  the  great  oataRaots  is  not  i o 
awftil  aod  overwhelmiBg,  bat  they  are  more  beantiAil  in  detail, 
and  prawniip  imfoy  ev^niiite  pietarea  to  the  eye.  They  are  more 
involved  in  mysteryf  as  it  were ;  aad  so  moo|i  is  left  for  the 
iroa^^naticm  to  combine  into  every  varied  form  of  beaaty.  Ton 
look  down  into  the  profonnd  abyss;  yon  are  wetted  with  that 
shov  er  of  rilvery  wgn^  that  risee  higher  than*  the  tree-tqM,  and 
whioh  gives  yon  in  that  soft  rain  an  actual  oo^isoionsness  of  its 
living  presence. 

I  did  not  oroas  .the  bridge,  whioh  extends  within  a  few  yards 
of  the  great  plnnge,  at  dimb/  to  the  top  of  tower ;  for  my 
strength,  had  so  entirely^led  me,  that  it  was  witii^  difficulty  I 
could  retrace  my  st^pa.  I  sat  for  about  an  hour  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  trees,  feasting  my  soul  with  beauty ;  and  with  re- 
luctance, thi^  drew  tears  £rom  my  eyes,  bade  adieu  to  the 
enchanting  spot-^not  for  ever,  I  hope,  for  shovdd  God  prolong 
ray  life,  I  shall  try  and  visit  the  Fails  again.  Uke  every  perfect 
work,  the  more  frequently  and  closely  tliey  are  examined,  the 
more  wonderftd  thegr  must  appear ;  the  mind  and  eye  can  never 
weary  of  such  an  astonishing  combination  of  suUimity  and 
power. 

We  stopped  at  a  prett|;oottage  at  the  edge  of  the  wood  to  get 
a  glass  of  watOT,  and  to  buy  some  peaches.  For  these  we  bad  to 
pay  treble  the  {Nrice  at  which  they  could  be  procured  at  Toronto ; 
but  they  proved  a  delicious  refiresfament,  the  day  was  very  warm, 
and  I  was  parotied  with  thirst.  Had  .time  permitted,  I  should 
have  enjoyed  greatly  a  ramble  throogh  the  town ;  as  it  was,  my 
brief  acquaintance  with  the  Amcnrican  shores  1^  a  very  pleasing 
impression  on  my  mind. 

■  The  little  that  I  have  seen  of  iate'iiigent,  well-educated  Ameri- 
cans, has  given  me  a  very  high  opinion  of  the  people.  Britain 
may  be  proud  o£  these  noble  scions  from  the  parent  tree,  whose 
£ftme,  like  her  own,  is  destined  to  fill  the  world.  **  The  great 
daughter  of  a  great  mother,"  America  claims  renown  for  her 
lawful  inheritance;  and  it  is  to  be  deeply  regretted  that  any 


I 


Ui«  in  mS  OLVARIHQB. 


t«t 


petty  Jealousy  or  party  feeUng  shonld  ever  create  a  rivalry 
between  coontriea  so  closely  nDlted  by  the  ties  of  blood;  whose 
origiii,  langnage,  religioOf  and  genitw  are  the  saue;  whose 
indostry,  raergy,  and  perseverance,  derived  from  thdr  British 
sires,  have  prooored  for  them  Uie  lofty  positfon  they  hdd,  and 
made  them  independwt  of  the  despots  of  earth. 


THE  LAND  01*  0T7B  BIETH. 

'^  There  is  not  »  qwt  in  thiH  wide-p«opl«d  eartii, 
So^eu  to  the  hewrt  u  the  land  of  onr  birth; 
'Til  the  home  of  onr  childhood  I  the  beaatiftil  spot 
By  mem'ry  reti^ned  when  sQ  ebe  is  forgot. 

Msy  the  bleuing  of  Qod 

Ever  hsUow  the  sod. 
And  its  vsU^  and  hills  by  onr  ohildreu  be  trod! 


''  Can  the  language  of  strangers,  in  accents  unlmown, 
Send  a  thrill  to  the  bosom  like  that  of  oar  own  ? 
The  face  may  be  £Mr,  and  the  smile  may  be  bland, 
But  it  breathes  not  the  tones  of  our  dear  native  land. 

There's  no  spot  on  earth 

Like  the  home  of  our  birth, 
Where  heroes  keen  guard  o'er  the  altar  and  hearth. 


**  How  sweet  is  thejanguage  that  taught  us  to  blend 
The  dear  names  of  ffttne- ,  of  husband,  and  friend ; 
That  taught  us  to  lisp  on  our  mother's  fond  breast, 
The  ballads  she  sang  as  she  rook'd  us  to  rest ! 

May  the  blessing  of  God 

Ever  hallow  the  sod, 
And  its  valleys  and  hills  by  our  children  be  trodel 


"May  old  England  Icng  lift  her  white  crest  o'er  the  wavo^ 
The  birth-place  of  science,  the  home  of  the  brave  1 

18 


2M 


Lira  III  «n  ouAMiren. 


In  her  oitiet  may  jMiiee  and  proeperity  dwell  I 
Maj  her  daughttfi  in  beauty  and  Tirtue  excel  i 
May  their  beauty  and  worth 
Blew  the  land  of  their  birth, 
While  heroee  keep  guwd  o'er  the  altar  and  hearth  I" 


UWm  IH  XHB  OLBAUSOS. 


201 


OHAPTEB  XIX. 


OOirOLUSIOM. 

*'  Wby  dott  then  fear  to  ipt ak  the  honeit  truth? 
BfA  boldly,  feerleiely,  what  thon  thlnk'it  right, 
And  time  ihall  Jtutiiy  thy  words  and  thee  I" 


8.M. 


Wk  left  Niagara  at  noon.  A  rery  pleasant  drive  broogLt  us 
to  Qneenstone,  and  vre  stepped  bn  board  the  "Ghief  Justice" 
steamboat,  that  had  jast  tonohed  the  wharf,  and  was  on  her  re- 
turn trip  to  Toronto. 

Tired  and  ill,  I  was  glad  to  lie  down  in  one  of  the  berths  in 
the  ladies*  oabin  to  rest,  and,  if  possible,  to  obtain  a  little  sleep. 
This  I  soon  found  was  out  of  the  question.  Two  or  three  noisy, 
spoiled  children  kept  up  a  constant  din;  and  their  grandmother, 
a  very  nice-looking  old  lady,  who  seemed  nurse-general  to  them 
all,  endeavored  in  vain  to  keep  them  quiet.  Their  mother  was 
reading  a  novel,  and  took  it  very  easy ;  reclining  on  a  comfort- 
able sofa,  she  left  her  old  mother  all  the  fatigue  of  taking  care 
of  the  children,  and  waiting  upon  herself. 

This  is  by  no  means  an  uncommon  trait  of  Oanadian  charac- 
ter. In  families  belonging  more  ^specially  to  the  middle  class, 
who  have  raised  themselves  Arom  a  lower  to  a  higher  grade,  the 
mother,  if  left  in  poor  circumstances,  almost  invariably  holds  a 
subordinate  position  in  her  wealthy  son  or  daughter's  family. 
She  superintends  the  servants,  and  nurses  the  younger  children ; 
and  her  time  is  occupied  by  a  number  of  minute  domestic  labors, 
that  allow  her  very  little  rest  in  her  old  age. 

I  have  seen  the  grandmother  in  a  wealthy  family  ironing  the 


292 


LIFB  IK  TBB  OLBABXNGS. 


fine  linen,  or  broiling  over  the  cook-stove,  while  her  daughter 
held  her  place  in  the  drawing-room.  How  differently  in  my 
own  country  are  these  things  ordered  1  wh«re  the  most  tender 
attention  is  paid  to  the  aged,  all  their  wants  studied,  and  their 
oomfort  regarded  as  a  sacred  thing. 

Age,  in  Canada,  is  seldom  honored.  Tou  would  ima^e  it 
almost  a  crime  for  any  one  to  grow  old — ^with  such  slighting, 
cold  indifference  are  the  aged  treated  by  the  young  and  strong. 
It  is  not  unusual  to  hear  a  lad  speak  of  his  father,  perhaps,  in 
the  prime  of  life,  as  the  " old  fellow,"  the  "old  boy,"  and  to  ad- 
dress a  grey-hdred  man  in  this  disrespectful  and  familiar  man- 
ner. Thii^  may  not  be  apparent  to  the  natives  themselves,  but 
it  never  Mb  to  strike  every  stran^^er  tliat  visits  the  colony. 

To  be  a  servant  is  a  lot  suflGiciently  hard— to  have  aU  your 
actions  dictated  to  you  by  the  will  of  another — ^to  enjoy  no  rest 
or  recreation,  but  such  as  is  granted  as  a  very  great;  favor ;  but 
to  be  a  humble  dependent  in  old  age  on  children,  to  whom  all 
the  best  years  of  your  life  were  devoted  with  all  the  energy  of 
maternal  love,  must  be  sad  indeed.  But  they  submit  with  great 
apparent  cheerfulness,  and  seem  to  think  it  necessary  to  work 
for  thb  shelter  of  a  child's  roof,  and  the  bread  they  eat. 

The  improved  circumstances  of  families,  whose  parents,  in  the 
first  settlement  of  the  country,  had  to  work  very  hard  for  their 
general  maintenance,  may  be  the  cause  of  this  inversion  of  moral 
duties,  and  the  parents  not  being  considered  properly  on  an 
equality  with  their  better  dressed  and  better  educated  offspring ; 
but  from  whatever  cause  it  springs,  the  effect  it  produces  on  the 
miud  of  a  stranger  is  very  painful.  It  is  difficult  to  feel  much 
respect  for  any  one  who  looks  down  upon  father  or  mother  as  an 
inferior  being,  and,  as  such,  considers  them  better  qualified  to 
perform  the  coarse  drudgeries  of  life.  Time,  we  hope,  will  remedy 
this  evil,  with  many  others  of  the  same  class. 

There  was  a  bride,  too,  on  board — ^a  very  delicate  looking 
young  woman  who  was  returning  from  a  tour  in  the  State%  to 
her  native  village.  She  seemed  very  much  to  dread  the  ordeal 
she  had  yet  to  pass  through — in  sitting  dressed  up  for  a  whole 
week  to  receive  visitors.    Kor  did  I  in  the  least  wonder  at  her 


I 


UFS  IH  T&K   CLEARINGS. 


293 


i 


repugnance  to  go  through  this  trying  piece  of  ceremonial,  which 
is  ahsolntely  indispensable  in  Canada. 

The  Monday  afte;  the  bride  and  bridegroom  make  their  first 
appearance  at  church,  every  person  in  the  same  dass  prepares  to 
pay  them  a  visit  of  congratulation;  and  if  the  towu  is  large,  and 
the  parties  well  known,  the  making  of  visits  to  the  bride  lasts  to 
the  end  of  the  week. 

The  bride,  who  is  often  a  young  girl  from  sixteen  to  twenty 
years  of  age,  is  doomed  for  this  period  to  sit  upon  a  sofa  or  re- 
clined in  an  easy-chair  dressed  in  t^<3  most  expensive  manner,  to 
receive  her  guests 

Well  she  knows  that  herself,  her  dress,  the  furniture  of  her 
room,  even  her  cake  and  wine,  will  undergo  the  most  minute 
scrutiny,  and  be  the  theme  of  conversation  among  all  the  gossips 
of  the  place  for  the  next  nine  ;l?ys.  No  wonder  that  she  feels 
nervous,  and  that  her  manners  are  constrained,  and  that  nothing 
looks  easy  or  natural  about  her,  from  her  neck-ribbon  to  her 
shoe-tie. 

"  Have  you  seen  the  bride  yet  ?  What  do  you  think  of  her  ? 
How  was  die  dressed ?  Is  she  tall,  or  short?  Pretty,  or  plain? 
Stupid,  or  clever?  Lively,  or  quiet?"  are  all  questions  certain 
to  be  asked,  and  answered  to  the  taste  and  judgment  of  the 
parties  to  whom  they  are  put;  besides  those  thousand  little 
interludes  which  spring  from  envy,  ill-nature,  and  all  unchari- 
tableness.  The  week  following  they,  in  courtesy,  must  return 
all  these  visits ;  and,  oh,  what  a  relief  it  must  be  when  all  this 
complimentary  nonsense  is  over,  and  they  are  once  more  at 
home  to  themselves  and  their  own  particular  friends  1 

There  is  another  custom,  peculiar  to  Canada  and  the  United 
States,  which  I  cordially  approve,  and  should  be  very  much 
gi'ieved  for  its  discontinuance. 

On  Kew-Tear^s  day  all  the  gentlemen  in  the  place  call  upon 
their  friends,  to  wish  them  a  happy  new  year,  and  to  exchange 
friendly  greetings  with  the  ladies  of  the  family,  who  are  always 
in  readiness  to  receive  them,  and  make  them  a  return  for  these 
marks  of  neighbourly  regard,  in  the  substantial  form  of  rich  cakes, 
fruit,  wine,  coflfee,  and  tea.    It  is  generally  a  happy,  cheerM  day ; 


284 


Lrra  IK  THE   OLE  A  RINGS. 


all  faces  wear  a  smile,  old  qnarrels  are  foi^tten,  and  every  one 
seems  anxious  to  let  ill-will  and  heart-bnmings  die  with  the  old 
year.  < 

A  gentleman  who  wishes  to  drop  an  inconyenient  acqnaintanee, 
has  only  to  omit  calling  npon  his  friend's  wife  and  daughters  on 
New-Tear*S  day,  withont  making  a  suitable  apology  for  the    " 
omission  of  this  usual  act  of  courtesy,  and  the  hint  is  acknow- 
ledged by  a  direct  cut  the  next  lime  the  parties  meet  in  public. 

It  is  an  especial  frolic  for  all  the  lads  who  have  just  returned 
from  school  or  college  to  enjoy  their  Ohristmas  holidays.  Oakea 
and  sweetmeats  are  showered  upon  them  in  abahdance,  and  they 
feel  themselves  of  vast  importance,  while  paying  their  compli- 
ments to  the  ladies,  and  running  from  house  to  house,  with  their 
brief  congratulatory  address — "I  wish  you  all  a  happy  New 
Yearl»'  :\\ 

It  would  be  a  thousand  pities  if  this  affectionate,  time- 
honoured,  hospitable  custom,  should  be  swept  away  by  the 
march  of  modern  improvement.  Some  ladies  complain  that  it 
gives  a  number  of  vulgar,  under-bred  men,  the  opportunity  of 
introducing  themselves  to  the  notice  and  company  of  their 
daughters.  There  may  be  some  reasonable  truth  in  this  remark  \ 
but  afkfiT  all  it  is  but  for  one  day,  and  the  kindly  greetings 
exchanged  are  more  productive  of  good  than  evil. 

The  evening  of  New-Year's  day  is  generally  devoted  to  danc- 
ing parties,  when  the  young  especially  meet  to  enjoy  themselves. 

The  "Wesleyan  Hethoitists  always  "pray  the  old  year  out  and 
the  new  year  in,"  as  it  is  termed  here,  and  they  could  not 
celebrate  its  advent  in  a  more  rational  and  improving  manner. 
Their  midnight  anthem  of  praise  is  a  sacred  and  beautiful  offer- 
ing to  Him,  whos»  vast  existence  is  not  meted  out  like  ours,  and 
measured  by  days  and  years. 

Large  parties  given  to  very  young  children,  which  are  so  [i 
common  in  this  country,  are  very  pernicious  in  the  way  in  which 
they  generally  operate  upon  youthful  minds.  They  foster  the 
passions  of  vanity  and  envy,  and  produce  a  love  of  dress  and 
display  which  is  very  repulsive  in  the  character  of  a  child. 
Little  girla  who  are  in  the  constant  habit  of  attending  these 


'FB   IN   THE   CLBARIKOS. 


205 


0 

h 
le 
id 

a. 

se 


parties^  soon  exo}^  >f^  the  natnral  manners  and  frank  simplicity 
80  delightfal  at  thew  age,  for  the  confidence  and  flippfuaoy  of 
woman  long  hacked  in  the  ways  of  the  world. 

For  some  time  after  I  settled  in  the  town,  I  was  not  myself 
aware  that  any  evil  coold  exist  in  a  harmless  party  of  children 
playing  together  at  the  bouse  <^  a  mntnal  friend.  Bnt  observa- 
tion has  convinced  me  that  I  was  in  error ;  that  these  parties 
operate  like  a  forcing  bed  npon  yoong  plants,  with  this  differ- 
ence, that  they  bring  to  maturity  the  seeds  of  evily  instead  of 
those  of  goodness  and  virtue,  and  that  a  child,  accustomed  to  the 
heated  atmosphere  of  pleasure,  is  not  likely,  in  maturer  years,  to 
enjoy  the  pure  air  and  domestic  avocations  of  home. 

These  juvenile  parties  appear  to  do  less  mischief  to  boys  than 
to  girls.  They  help  to  humanize  the  one,  and  to  make  heartless 
coquets  of  the  other.  The  boys  meet  for  a  downright  romping 
play  with  each  other ;  the  girls  to  be  caressed  and  admired,  to 
show  off  their  fine  dresses,  and  to  gossip  about  the  dress  and  ap- 
pearance of  their  neighbours. 

I  know  that  I  shall  be  called  hard-hearted  for  this  assertion ; 
but  it  is  true.  I  have  frequently  witnessed  what  I  relate,  both 
at  my  own  house  and  the  houses  of  others ;  and  those  who  will 
take  the  pains  to  listen  to  the  conversation  of  these  miniature 
women,  will  soon  yield  a  willing  assent  to  my  observations,  and 
keep  their  little  ones  apart  from  such  scenes,  in  the  pure  atmos- 
phere of  home.  The  garden  or  the  green  field  is  the  best  place 
for  children,  who  can  always  derive  entertainment  and  instruc- 
tion from  nature  and  her  beautiful  works.  Left  to  their  own 
choice,  the  gay  party  would  be  a  lore,  far  less  entertaioing'than 
a  game  of  blind-man^s  buff  in  the  school-room,  when  lessons  were 
over.  It  is  the  vanity  of  parents  that  fosters  the  same  spirit  in 
their  children. 

The  careless,  disrespectful  manner  often  used  in  this  country 
by  children  to  their  parents,  is  an  evil  which,  in  all  probability, 
originates  in  this  early  introduction  of  young  people  into  the 
mysteries  of  society.  They  imagine  themselves  persons  of  con- 
sequence, and  that  their  opinion  is  quite  equal  in  weight  to  the 
experience  and  superior  knowledge  of  their  elders.    We  cannot 


~..*: 


S00 


LIVB  IN  TBB  OLBARINOS. 


Imagine  a  more  revolting  sight  than  a  yonng  lad  presuming  to 
treat  his  father  with  disrespect  and  contempt,  and  daring 
presumptuously  to  contradict  him  before  ignorant  idlers  like 
himself. 

"  You  are  wrong,  Sh* ;  it  is  not  so" — "  Hamma,  that  is  not 
true ;  I  know  better,"  are  expressions  which  I  have  heard  with 
painful  surprise  firom  young  people  in  this  country;  and  the 
parents  have  sunk  into  sil^oe,  evidently  abashed  at  the  reproof 
of  an  insolent  child. 

These  remarks  are  made  with  no  ill-will,  but  with  a  sincere 
hope  that  they  may  prove  beneficial  to  the  community  at  largo, 
and  be  the  means  of  removing  some  of  the  evils  which  are 
to  be  found  in  our  otherwise  pleasant  and  rapidly-improving 
society. 

I  know  that  it  would  be  easier  for  me  to  gain  the  approbation 
of  the  Canadian  public,  by  exaggerating  the  advantages  to  be 
derived  from  a  settlement  in  the  colony,  by  praising  all  the  good 
qualities  of  her  people,  and  by  throwing  a  flattering  veil  over 
tlieir  defects ;  but  this  is  not  my  object,  and  such  servile  adula- 
tion would  do  them  no  good,  and  degrade  me  in  my  own  eyes. 
I  have  virrittAn  what  I  consider  to  be  the  truth,  and  as  such  I 
hope  it  may  do  good,  by  preparing  tlie  minds  of  emigrants  for 
what  they  will  really  find^  rather  than  by  holding  out  fallacious 
hopes  that  can  never  be  realized. 

In  **  Bousing  it  in  the  Bush,"  I  gave  an  honest  personal 
statement  oi  facts.  I  related  nothing  but  what  had  really  hap- 
pened ;  and  if  illustrations  were  wanting  of  persons  who  had 
suffered  a»  mttch^  and  been  reduced  to  the  same  straits,  I  could 
furnish  a  dozen  volumes  without  having  to  travel  many  hundred 
miles  for  subjects. 

We  worked  hard  and  struggled  manfully  with  overwhelming 
difficulties,  yet  I  have  been  abused  most  unjustly  by  the  Oanadian 
papers  for  revealing  some  of  the  mysteries  of  the  Backwoods. 
Not  one  word  was  said  against  the  country  in  my  book,  as  Was 
falsely  asserted.  It  was  vn-itten  as  a  warning  to  well-educated 
persons  not  to  settle  in  localities  for  which  they  were  unfitted 
by  their  previotu  MHts  and  education.    In  this  I  hoped  to  oon- 


•,  ■  i 


* 


\% 


wei^' 


,'  I 


LIFB   IN   THB   0LEARINO8. 


2^ 


t 


\ 


fer  a  service  both  on  them  and  Canada;  for  the  prosperous 
settlement  of  suoh  persons  on  cleared  farms  must  prove  more 
beneficial  to  the  colony  than  their  ruin  in  the  huh. 

It  was  likewise  very  cmelly  and  falsely  asserted,  that  I  had 
spoken  ill  of  the  Irieh  people^  because  I  described  the  revolting 
scene  we  witnessed  at  Grosse  Isle,  the  actors  in  which  were 
principally  Irish  emigrants  of  the  very  lowest  tikue.  Had  I  been 
able  to  give  the  whole  details  of  what  we  saw  on  that  island, 
the  terms  applied  to  the  people  who  furnished  snch  disgusting 
pictures  would  have  been  echoed  by  their  own  countrymen. 
This  was  one  of  those  cases  in  which  it  was  impoaaible  to  reveal 
the  whole  truth. 

The  few  Irish  characters  that  occur  in  my  narrative  have  been 
drawn  with  an  ceffeetionate^  not  a  malignant  hand.  We  had 
very  few  Irish  settlers  round  us  in  the  busb,  and  to  them  I  never 
owed  the  least  obligation.  The  contrary  of  this  has  been 
asserted,  and  I  am  accused  of  ingratitude  by  one  editor  for  be- 
nefits I  never  received,  and  which  I  was  too  proud  to  ask, 
always  preferring  to  work  with  my  own  hands,  rather  than  to 
horroto  or  heg  from  others.  All  the  kind  acts  of  courtesy  I 
received  from  the  poor  Indiana  this  gentleman  thought  fit  to 
turn  over  to  the  Irish,  in  order  to  hold  me  up  as  a  monster  of 
ingratitude  to  his  countrymen. 

Jn  the  case  of  Jenny  Buchannon  and  John  Monaghan,  the  only 
two  Irish  people  with  whom  I  had  anything  to  do,  the  benefits 
were  surely  mutual.  Monaghan  came  to  us  a  runaway  appren- 
tice—not,  by-the-bye,  thife  best  recommendation  for  a  servant. 
We  received  him  starving  and  ragged,  paid  him  good  wages,  and 
treated  him  with  great  kindness.  The  boy  turned  out  a  grateful 
and  attached  creature,  which  cannot  possibly  confer  the  opposite 
character  upon  us. 

Jenny^s  loye  and  affection  will  suflSoiently  prove  our  ingrati- 
tude to  her.  To  the  good  qualities  of  these  people  I  have  done 
ample  justice.  In  what,  then,  does  my  ingratitude  to  the  Irish 
people  consist  ?  I  should  feel  much  obliged  to  the  writer  in  the 
London  Observer  to  enlighten  me  on  tliis  head,  or  those  editors 
of  Canadian  papers,  who,  without  reading  for  themselves, 
servilely  copied  a  falsehood. 

■:■-:•.--,.■--.;.    V-     .. :  ■■■         13*      :.  .      -,    -■-     -.:'■■ 


298 


UFS   IN   THE   OLKARINOS. 


It  is  easy  to  pervert  people's  words,  and  the  facts  they  may 
represent,  to  their  injury ;  and  what  I  have  said  on  the  snbject 
of  edaoation  may  give  a  handle  to  persons  who  delight  in  mis* 
representing  the  opinions  of  others,  to  accnse  me  of  republican 
principles ;  I  will,  therefore,  say  a  few  words  on  this  subject, 
which  I  tmst  will  exonerate  me  from  this  imputation. 

That  all  men,  morally  speaking,  are  equal  in  the  eyes  of  theii 
Maker,  appears  to  me  a  self-evident  fact,  though  some  may  bo 
called  by  his  providence  to  rule,  and  others  to  serve.  That  the 
welfare  of  tiie  most  humble  should  be  as  dear  to  the  country  to 
which  he  belongs  as  the  best  educated  and  the  most  wealthy, 
seems  but  reasonable  to  a  reflective  mind,  who  looks  upon  man 
as  a  responsible  and  immortal  creature ;  but,  that  perfect  equaU 
ity  can  exist  in  a  world  where  the  labor  of  man  is  required  to 
procure  the  common  necessaries  of  life — where  the  industry  of 
one  will  create  wealth,  and  the  sloth  of  another  induce  poverty— 
we  cannot  believe. 

Some  master-spirit  will  rule,  and  the  masses  will  bow  down  to 
superior  intellect,  and  the  wealth  and  importance  which  such 
minds  never  fail  to  acquire.  The  laws  must  be  enforced,  and 
those  to  whom  the  charge  of  them  is  committed  will  naturally 
exercise  authority,  and  demand  respect. 

Perfect  equality  never  did  exist  upon  earth.  The  old  repub- 
lics were  more  despotic  and  exclusive  in  their  separation  of  the 
different  grades  than  modern  monarchies;  and  in  the  most  en- 
lightened, that  of  Greece,  the  plague-spot  of  slavery  was  found. 
The  giant  republic,  whose  rising  greatness  throws  into  shade  the 
once  august  names  of  Greece  and  Eome,  suffers  this  heart-cor- 
roding leprosy  to  cleave  to  her  vitals,  and  sully  her  fair  fame, 
making  her  boasted  vaunt  of  equality  a  base  lie — the  scorn  of  all 
Christian  men. 

They  thrust  the  enfranchised  African  from  their  public  tables 
— born  beneath  their  own  skies,  a  native  of  their  own  soil,  a  free 
citizen  by  their  own  Declaration  of  Independence ;  yet  exclaim, 
in  the  face  of  this  llaeh  injustice:  "Our  people  enjoy  equal 
rights."  Alas  I  for  Oolumbia's  sable  sons  !  Where  is  their  equal- 
ity? On  what  footing  do  they  stand  with  their  white  brethren? 
What  value  do  they  place  tpon  the  negro  beyond  his  price  in 


■■?■■.. 


1  ! 


LIFB   IN   THB   CLEARINGS. 


209 


dollars  and  cents?  Tet  is  he  eqnal  in  the  sight  of  Him  who 
gave  him  a  rational  soul,  and  afforded  him  the  means  of  obtain- 
ing eternal  life. 

We  are  advocates  for  equality  of  mind — ^for  a  commonwealth 
of  intellect;  we  earnestly  hope  for  it,  ardently  pray  for  it,  and 
we  feel  a  confident  belief  in  the  possibility  of  our  theory.  We 
look  forward  to  the  day  when  honest  labor  will  be  made  honor- 
able :  when  he  who  serves,  and  he  who  commands,  will  r^oice 
in  this  freedom  of  sonl  together ;  when  both  master  and  servant 
will  enjoy  a  reciprocal  communion  of  mind,  without  lessening 
the  respect  due  from  one  to  the  other. 

But  equality  of  station  is  a  dream — ^an  error  which  is  hourly 
.contradicted  by  reality.  As  the  world  is  at  present  constituted, 
such  a  state  of  things  is  impossible.  The  rich  and  the  educated 
will  never  look  upon  the  poor  and  ignorant  as  their  equate ;  and 
the  voice  of  the  public,  that  is  ever  influenced  by  wealth  and 
power,  will  bear  them  out  in  their  decision. 

The  country  is  not  yet  in  existence  than  can  piesent  us  a 
better  government  and  wiser  institutions  than  the  British. 
Long  may  Oanada  recognise  her  rule,  and  rejoice  in  her  sway! 
Should  she  ever  be  so  unwise  as  to  relinquish  the  privileges  she 
enjoys  under  the  sovereignty  of  the  mother  country,  she  may 
seek  prdtection  Tiearer  and  "/are  worse /^^  The  sorrows  and 
trials  that  I  experienced  during  my  first  eight  years*  residence  in 
Canada,  have  been  more  than  counterbalanced  by  the  remaining 
twelve  of  comfort  and  peace.  I  have  long  felt  the  deepest 
interest  in  her  prosperity  and  improvement.  I  no  longer  regard 
myself  as  an  alien  on  her  shores,  but  her  daughter  by  adoption, — 
the  happy  mother  of  Canadian  children, — ^rejoicing  in  the 
warmth  and  hospitality  of  a  Canadian  Home ! 

May  the  blessing  of  God  rest  upon  the  land  I  and  her  people 
ever  prosper  under  a  religious,  liberal,  and  free  government! 


300 


UFI    IN   THK    CLE  A  KIN  OS. 


FOR  LONDON. 


A     NATIONAL     SONO. 

"  For  London  i  for  London  I  how  oft  has  that  cry 
From  the  blue  waves  of  ocean  been  wafted  on  high  ? 
When  the  tar  through  the  grey  mist  that  mantled  the  iida, 
The  white  cliffs  of  England  with  rapture  descried, 
And  the  sight  of  his  country  awoke  in  his  heart 
Emotions  no  object  save  home  can  impart  I 
For  London  I  for  London !  the  home  of  the  free, 
Tliere's  no  part  in  the  world,  royal  London,  like  thee. 

"  Old  London !  what  ages  have  glided  away 
Since  cradled  in  rushes  thy  infancy  lay  1 
In  thy  rude  huts  of  timber  the  proud  wings  lay  furl'd 
Of  a  spirit  whose  power  now  o'ershadows  the  world, 
And  the  brave  chie&  who  built  and  defended  those  towers. 
Were  the  sires  of  this  glorious  old  city  of  ours. 
For  London  I  for  London  I  the  home  of  the  free, 
There's  no  city  on  earth,  royal  London,  like  thee  I 

"  The  Boman,  the  Saxon,  the  Norman,  the  Dane, 
Have  in  turn  sway'd  thy  sceptre,  thou  queen  of  the  main  I 
Their  spirits,  thou^  diverse,  uniting  made  one, 
Of  nations  the  noblest  beneath  yon  bright  sun ; 
With  the  genius  of  each,  and  the  courage  of  all. 
No  foeman  dare  plant  hostile  flag  on  thy  wall. 
For  London  1  for  London  1  the  home  of  the  free. 
There's  no  city  on  earth,  royal  London,  like  thee  I 

"  Old  Thames  rolls  his  waters  in  pride  at  thy  feet. 
And  wafts  to  earth's  confines  thy  riches  and  fleet ; 
Thy  temples  and  towers,  like  a  crown  on  the  wave. 
Are  hail'd  with  a  thrill  of  delight  by  the  brave. 
When,  returning  triumphant  from  conquests  afar, 
They  wreathe  round  thy  altars  the  trophies  of  war. 
For  London  !  for  London  !  the  home  of  the  free. 
There's  no  part  in  the  wocld,  royal  London,  like  thee  ! 

"  Oh,  London  !  when  we,  who  exulting  behold 
Thy  splendour  and  wealth,  in  the  dust  shall  be  cold, 
May  sages,  and  heroes,  and  patriots  unborn. 
Thy  altars  defend,  and  thy  annals  adorn  ! 
May  thy  power  be  supreme  on  the  land  of  the  brave, 
The  feeble  to  succour,  the  fallen  to  save. 
And  the  sons  and  the  daughters  now  cradled  by  thoe,  \ 

Find  no  city  on  earth  like  the  home  of  the  free !" 


TUK   END. 


'^IP^ 


